


Song and Sword Arc III; Separation/Subterfuge

by Steelharp



Series: Song and Sword [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alcohol, Arson, Awkward Romance, Blood and Violence, Corruption, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Gridania (Final Fantasy XIV), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Intrigue, Ishgard (Final Fantasy XIV), Kugane (Final Fantasy XIV), Limsa Lominsa (Final Fantasy XIV), Major Original Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Narcotics, Organized Crime, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), POV Alternating, POV Original Character, Poison, Slow Burn, Ul'dah (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:48:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 53,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29290113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steelharp/pseuds/Steelharp
Summary: Pascalle is not the warrior of light. Neither is Nasrinne. But the Warrior of Light's tale isn't the only tale that's been unfolding on Hydaelyn. Skeletons have been cleaned out of the closet, and battles have been fought. But that doesn’t mean the war is won. This war is just beginning, and for better or worse, it will change Nasrinne far more than the Dragonsong did.
Series: Song and Sword [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114217





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This Arc includes an explicit sex scene in Chapter 7
> 
> This entire work (consisting of 4 arcs total) has been adapted and edited from a roleplay between my fiance and me that took place over the course of 18 months. It cements the backstory of our OC's within the world of FFXIV and Hydaelyn, and has been a labour of love for both of us.  
> Canon terminology has been used as much as possible, please forgive any slips in vernacular.  
> As the events of the game's MSQ exist within a time bubble, creative license has taken place when describing the passing of time between events.  
> Majority of supporting characters are original NPC’s we created. Relationships with MSQ characters referenced in passing have been kept intentionally vague to allow our backstory to exist flexibly with the backstories of other OC’s and RPers we interact with.  
> If you're a fellow RPer and you'd like to learn more about our OC's feel free to visit our tumblr @ steelharp.tumblr.com/ (best viewed on desktop)

**_The Apartments de Vernisse; Ishgard_ **

Nasrinne stared out the wide windows, out toward the mountains. Trying her hardest to remember when there had been green out there and they had all ridden together in the carriage with the velveteen seats and the threadbare rolanberry curtains.

That carriage was out there somewhere. A remnant of it. A skeleton. Buried under malms of snow. Not so different to her father really.

“Ygrinne won’t be happy about this.” She said to Jhulayne finally. “There’s still a lot to do and Mother is  _ heartbroken _ .”

“I’ll handle Yggy.” Her brother had said to her. “And Mother. This could be the best lead we’ll have in ages… you know it.”

“Jhuls… I don’t know. We might still get something from the leads we already have.” She lied, unconvincingly for once.

He was right of course. Although Ebrynne wasn’t going anywhere, they had probably gotten everything useful out of her that they could get. They knew now that like Fabrice, Edeonne had been an operative involved with the Brotherhood at some point. Dione had taken a ‘fancy’ to her. So he had put his hand up when she needed to be burned. Which meant poor Amandine Lanencourt had been the victim of circumstance. The circumstance which left a blot on their otherwise meticulous plans to clean up shop. Without it, they’d never have suspected anything dirty about Hemmet, never would have been able to press Fabrice for a name. If Dione hadn’t made the mistake of letting his impulses get the better of him, they may never have begun down this path at all. 

She could only hope that if there was any truth to the concepts of Heavens and souls, that Amandine might find some comfort in knowing she would be the one responsible for bringing down this wretched band of criminals.

“I thought you’d be thrilled to be getting away from all the rigamarole.” He hummed beneath his breath, slightly amused.

“I would be, but honestly. Jhuls, I’m  _ worried _ .” She said, “I’m positive that Father was no accident… I think Artreux-”

“I think you’re letting your closeness to a certain Temple Knight get the better of you.” He gave her a serious glance, “You can’t really think Artreux would be so bold as to try something like that. Chocobos get sick, Father was getting old. Perhaps he missed the signs it’s sight was going... ”

“I know Hemmet was shocked about I’zuna. But… I’m just worried all of this seems convenient as well. Aren’t you?”

“My dear little bird _ , _ ” He tutted at her softly, placing his good hand on her shoulder. “You’re doing no good to anyone here. You’ll drive Yggy mad within three more suns. And if these sordid conspiracies you’re spouting are true. Isn’t going to Ul’dah the surest way to prove it?”

“I’ll feel guilty leaving you here to handle everything alone.” By everything she of course meant their Mother’s well-being. And Ygrinne’s nagging.

“I won’t be alone. I’ll have Tris to help.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze, raising a thumb up to pinch her cheek. “You go catch me a criminal.  _ Oh _ , and I won’t tell Yggy that you and Pas are moving to a smaller apartment.” He winked, shamelessly.

“What!?” Nasrinne gasped, wholly mortified.

“Calm down, it’s got a loft bit.” He chuckled, “A bed downstairs, a bed upstairs. No kitchen though.”

She relaxed, drawing one of her sharp little breaths through her nose as she glared at his grinning face. But after barely a moment her eyes softened and her lips curled up into a tender little smile.

“I’ll miss you while I’m off, catching your criminal.” She said, “We don’t say kind things to each other enough in Ishgard, do we?”

He snorted at her, loudly.   
“I say kind things to you all the time.” He teased again.

“Oh well,  _ you _ do.” She laughed, “And I love you for all of them.” 

“You’re worried you didn’t tell Father that you loved him enough times? He  _ knew _ Nasrinne.” Jhulayne said sweetly, “We all know. It’s the one thing you’re  _ always  _ terrible at lying about.”

“You’re my hero, do you know that?” She said, as she always did, laughing as she kissed his cheek.

“Well, Nas, you know,” He replied, exactly in kind, “I do try.” 

\---

**_Nasrinne & Pascalle’s Apartment; The Goblet_ **

Nasrinne couldn’t pin down exactly how she felt as she readied herself to return to Ul’dah. It hadn’t even really been that long since she left Pascalle in Gridania. Barely over a fortnight, really. But it felt to her like an age had passed.    
On the one hand, she was terribly relieved. Which made her feel guilty. There’d been so many arguments. Arguments about her  _ overactive imagination _ . She was right, though. She knew it in her bones. There  _ was _ something amiss about the circumstances surrounding her Father's death.   
It would be good to  _ do _ something productive as well. She was tired of listening to platitudes from people who were strangers to her, and playing bloody dirges on the harp.   
On the other hand, however, she felt terribly, terribly anxious. She was incredibly nervous to see Pascalle again. Why? It was stupid. She’d spent countless hours in his company and managed to (mostly) behave like a proper lady. She knew the reason though. Her Father’s passing had made it more obvious in a way. A reminder of the importance to speak your feelings plainly to the people that mattered before it was too late. And Pascalle  _ did _ matter to her. Jhulayne was right, she was in love with him. She just… didn’t know how to tell him. First of all, it wasn’t something she’d ever said to anyone before, so she wasn’t really sure how one went about doing it. Then, secondly, there was the fact that there just  _ wasn’t _ time. There was no time to be talking about her amorous feelings toward him in between interrogating suspects and chasing villains. 

“You just have to wait, Nasrinne.” She told herself with a sigh as she closed her eyes, thinking of Ul’dah’s glimmering aetheryte, and the sandstone walls that surrounded it. That was all you had to do to use an aetheryte really. Then you were sort of, well, there.   
The air was still warm in the city, even though the hour was late. She opened her eyes, fingers straying absently toward a lock of her hair as her dark eyes searched the plaza for a sign of the knight. 

The moon was high in the sky when Nasrinne appeared, as if out of thin air. The only thing Pas could feel though when he saw her was… relief. Relief that she was safe, that she was here with him. She didn’t spot him at first as he stood to his feet. As he got closer, he called out.   
“Nasrinne,” a soft yet sorrowful half smile on his face. A mixture of regret and happiness.

The moment she heard his voice, she turned her face toward him. She couldn’t really know it, but the truth was all those things she wanted to say to him were written on her face most of the time. The way her eyes shone, the effortless way her lips curled upward into a smile as soon as his name began to leave her lips.    
“Pascalle,” and of course the lilt of her voice that always came with it.    
  
“My heart is lifted with your safe arrival.” He opened his arms to embrace her. 

She didn’t quite  _ fall _ into his them; because she caught herself from doing it. But there was an unmistakable appentency to the way she held him in return. As if perhaps she had been wishing for nothing more than to press her cheek against his chest, hold him as tightly to her as a person could be held, and it was only good old-fashioned Ishgardian propriety which held her back.    
“Would that you didn’t have to exile yourself here, for your presence was sorely missed.” She sighed.   
  
Pascalle closed his eyes as his arms wrapped around her.   
“As sorely as I wished to be able to accompany you through such tragedy.” He whispered it softly against the crown of her head.

“It is good to see you.” She said then, looking up at him earnestly as she broke away.

Of course, it couldn’t have lasted as long as he would have liked it to. But he understood; years of being taught it wasn’t proper. Plus there was probably a larger question of whether it was  _ safe _ for the two of them to linger like that any longer in such a public place.    
  
“Shall we go home?” She said to him, referring of course to an apartment she’d never been to. Just a rented space. These facts obviously didn’t matter to Nasrinne, and perhaps that was what told him all those other things she couldn’t say better than anything else.  _ Home _ . She called it. And it was where  _ he _ was.

“There is nowhere I’d rather go. I’ll lead the way” He smiled as he held his arm out for her to take. In the time they started the short walk back to the apartment the crowds dwindled further.

“I’m sorry it’s so late as well,” She barrelled on as she hooked an elbow about his, gesticulating with her other hand. Utterly oblivious to the little ways she gave herself away all the time without meaning to. “Ygrinne had a fit… I knew she would. Poor Jhuls has been left with it. Though if anyone can talk Yggy down it’s him.” She heaved a sigh.   
  
“It’s really no bother, it gave me plenty of time to think.” His eyes drifted over at the few faces left around. Two of the city guards walking by, themselves casting their own glances toward him. A Miqo’te merchant carting his wears toward an alley and a few friendly looking drunks laughing it up on the stairs. How everyone seemed so relaxed, how he should be feeling felt like it was such a foreign concept to him nowadays. “It’s a great burden for you all to bear, I’m sure she just feels responsibility for you all.” 

Nasrinne sighed her reply, “It’s not that I don’t appreciate her neurotic behaviour comes from a place of care.” She shook her head, “I just. I don’t know, I will ever be her little sister, won’t I? It’s hardly a position commanding of much respect.” She said it dryly, with a smirk that played on her lips for a heartbeat. “I don’t mean to sound like a drunk, but I hope you’ve a bottle of your beloved Rosso waiting.” She chuckled, breathily, “There’s nothing else that will get rid of a Ygrinne inspired headache.” 

Little did Nasrinne know he had already set out a bottle of Rosso and some snacks though the bread may have gone a little stale by this point. “Of course, would I ever be  _ without _ my beloved.” He jested, winking at her. “We can get to work on that headache in short order.” He chuckled.

“Honestly, it’s feeling better already.” She said, looking down toward her feet with a smile she knew was far too coy to show Pascalle. 

The candles were still burning when they arrived back at the apartment. It probably wasn’t the wisest to leave them unattended so long but it was a pleasant ambiance to arrive home to. He had made his way straight to the bottle, taking it in his hand to uncork it. Maybe a drink or two wouldn’t hurt before any real words needed to be said.    
“How is Jhul’s coping?” His friend had been through much, it made Pascalle’s heart heavy for Jhulayne to have to bear another such burden.   
  
Nasrinne shrugged off her coat as they stepped inside. She tossed it upon the stand by the door, rolling up the sleeves of her shirt afterwards as she turned to watch Pascalle uncorking the wine. Her eyes shifted slowly across from him toward the refreshments laid out upon the table. How could a person be so impossibly thoughtful? She wondered as she made her way toward the lounge.

“He’s as well as can be expected, I suppose.” She said, tucking her legs up beneath her as her eyes flickered between the assortment of bread and cheese and fruits.    
“It’s a lot of responsibility… but...” She pursed her lips. The cheese was sweaty. She chose not to say anything. Why would she say anything? Why complain about a kind gesture? She took a cube of it alongside a dried apricot.    
“He is managing… Jhulayne has always had a lot of tenacity in situations like this. He has a certain strength in a crisis. I think it’s because he’s eternally optimistic...” Her brows knitted together slightly. “Tristione is making arrangements to have him and Mother move permanently into the apartment…” She sighed, offering him a slightly care worn smile before she popped her little parcel of apricot and cheese into her mouth.    
“How have you been?” She asked after she finished her mouthful. 

Pascalle poured them each a glass and handed one to Nasrinne and sat down onto the lounge beside her, crossing one leg over the other and resting his glass on his lap.    
“Jhulayne’s true character really shines when under pressure.” It had been proven to him before, there was no other man Pascalle would rather have beside him in a crisis, to trust his life with. Perhaps it was a strength within the Filois family itself.

He winced as he realised the cheese that he had set out earlier in the day had not done well with the Ul’dah heat. But Nasrinne made no complaints as she popped the sweaty block into her mouth.  _ Bless her kindness _ .    
“Tristione is a good man…” Pas trailed off. He hoped they would all be safe under one roof. He had to tell Nasrinne what Hemmet had told him and if what he said was true, and that her father’s death wasn’t an accident then none of her family were off limits to Artreux. He sighed, turning his head to look her in the eyes. “To be truthful. I’ve been troubled of late, ever since Hemmet arrived at Tojori’s.” He couldn’t hold her gaze for long and looked back down to the dark red pool of liquid in his wine glass. “He… implied, that your father...” He could hardly find the words, Pascalle looked up to her. “That it may have not been an accident after all.” 

Nasrinne’s face was almost eerily impassive as he spoke. She took a sip of her wine, licking her lips before she replied.

“Of course it wasn’t an accident.” She said it plainly, without her voice pitching or raising. Just a simple statement. Then she took another drink, longer this time, sighing after her glass left her lips.    
“Why would my Father, a man who has broken in a hundred chocobos or more, not recognise if his bird was ailing? He’s trained fighting beasts, he knows them. He knows their moods and dispositions. He knows all the signs to look for. He wouldn’t take a sick chocobo trotting around Witchdrop. What a ridiculous notion.” She shook her head, looking out across the room toward the glass doors and the darkness of the courtyard. “I kept asking which bird it was, had anyone examined it? Examined the other’s in the stables to ascertain if any other of them had the illness…” Her lips tugged downwards into a frown. “ _ But _ , I was just being  _ bothersome _ . Ygrinne threatened to take my tongue from me if I kept asking questions.” She shrugged. “Jhuls knows. He knows in his heart that this couldn’t have been an accident. The timing alone is too convenient. He just doesn’t want to face up to the thought that we’ve placed everyone in harm's way...” She gave a dry, humourless laugh, “But of course we have. We’re causing all sorts of trouble… What better way to try and scare us off than a well-timed accident to remind us more poignantly of our mortality…” Her eyes were almost as dark as the sky outside the window she was still gazing out. “If Hemmet even implied such a thing to you, it means he’s already well on the out. He’s a loose thread they’ll be cutting off soon.” She sighed again. “But, if he can help us find Dione, we may just have a chance of proving  _ everything _ .” 

Pascalle wore a look of quiet surprise on his face as his gaze flicked away from her.    
_ Of course it wasn't an accident.  _

Nasrinne must have had these thoughts since she first heard the news, she’s not a fool. He didn't make a sound as she explained her reasoning, all solid and logical of course. Before Pascalle was not even sure himself but hearing it from someone else, the one person he trusted. He knew it now to be true.   
“You must forgive Ygrinne, grief does many things to a person.” his eyes cast sadly back toward the Rosso. They had to get to the bottom of this, they needed proof to cast this  _ Brotherhood _ into the light.    
“I should shoulder some of the blame, for without me your family would have been in no danger at all, Nasrinne.” He looked up to her again and smiled. “We are causing trouble though.” He huffed an amused breath through his nose though his face was still filled with regret. 

“What are you talking about Pascalle?” Nasrinne shook her head, her eyebrows setting into a determined little v shape as she looked at him. “What on earth have  _ you _ done? You’re not responsible, not for any of this. Jhulayne and I were the ones who started off this macabre little journey. We dragged you into this, remember?” Her expression softened slightly, “You weren’t to know how long the reach of this hand really was. How could you know that? You’ve been off training and then fighting a war with _ dragons _ . Since you were twelve or something ridiculous…” She gave a heavy sigh, “You’re certainly not to blame for the way a frightened animal behaves when you back it into a corner.” 

It was the same thing Tristione had said to her. Only unlike Tristione, she knew the frightened animal she was referring to was Artreux of course.  But Nasrinne didn’t really want to say his name. She didn’t want to refer to the man as a father either. She didn’t think he deserved that title.   


He bit his bottom lip as he listened to Nasrinnes words earnestly. So long had he shouldered his burdens and doubts upon his shoulders, he’d forgotten the feeling of having someone truly behind him. Someone in his corner backed him, (though he could do without her imposing all the blame upon herself and her brother.)    
“At times, it is easier to take responsibility for such things upon oneself. But, This  _ is _ the break we’ve needed all of this time, and I hate to say... it’s Hemmet’s fondness for you that we’ve even had this luck at all.” he tipped back the Rosso, drinking about half of what was left. “I pray he has stayed safe until our meeting tomorrow.” 

“Hemmet’s the sort of man who’s fond of any woman who bats her eyes at him and lets him think he’s in control.” She rolled her eyes, but then her lips drew into a thin line, somber. “I hope he has managed to lay low too… I think, or at least, I  _ hope _ , somewhere beneath everything, Hemmet  _ is _ a good man, though. Good men can walk the wrong path sometimes.” 

He tilted his head toward her with a smile. Good men could walk the wrong path, his thoughts turned to his father. Artreux had too long walked that dark path, there was no way for Pascalle to change his father’s heading. 

_ Isn’t that what I’m doing right now, really? Walking the wrong path? _ She couldn’t help the thought as it slipped into her mind. You make a choice, and other people are affected by it. Was this dogged pursuit of justice she was setting foot on any different to Hemmet’s dogged pursuit of coin to line his pockets?   
It wasn’t as if her motivations for wanting to bring down the Brotherhood were exactly selfless. In a way, they they were just as selfish and stupid as Hemmet’s reasons for helping them. She knew that every moment she continued these investigations, her family would be in danger. They had made that explicitly clear to her already... Innocent people died every day, all the time. What made Amandine, or her Father, or  _ Mirielle _ , any different? Nothing. Nothing except for her own arrogance. That she believed she could do this. She believed they could uncover the evidence they’d need. Was that belief worth risking everyone she cared for? Her brow furrowed again as she glanced down at her wine. She felt caught between two terrible truths, and she couldn’t decide which of them was worse. 

“If we don’t do this, who will?” She murmured, a question more for herself, than Pascalle. 

“Nobody.” Came the words solemnly from his lips, who else was there? “The Brotherhood are too entrenched for anything but drastic measures. We need to remove them like the parasite they are.” The words that left his mouth even surprised him. “I haven’t investigated Pearl Lane yet… maybe we should at least take a look before dawn?” 

A hasty and foolish idea perhaps, but there wasn’t much chance of him getting to sleep tonight anyway, at least not without a few more bottles of the Rosso. Which wouldn’t leave him well off for their meeting with Hemmet. 

Nasrinne’s eyebrows quirked upwards at Pascalle’s suggestion.    
“Go there now, at this hour? There’ll be no one about except for drunks, ne’er-do-wells and other folk with no place to go…” Her thumb brushed against the underside of her chin as she considered it. 

Pascalle’s face dropped, just a hint as Nasrinne at first questioned his idea.  _ It was a stupid idea anyway. _

“It couldn’t hurt…” She hummed her reply, offering him a little shrug. Then her eyes travelled up and down the length of his fine silk shirt and she bit her lip. 

His ears perked up as she finished her thought. Did she say it couldn’t hurt?  _ Now she’s really just humouring me _ . His cheeks flushed at the thought of her humouring him so kindly. 

“You can’t go there at this time of night looking like that though.” She gave him a crooked smile, “Everyone would peg you for the honourable man you are and we’d be leaving with much lighter coin purses. Have you got anything a bit older? Shabbier?”

He looked down at his own shirt, a fine flowing piece Mintori had gotten made for him. He played with the soft silk between his fingers.    
“Shabbier?” He held a finger to his lips as he thought, standing up and following her with his wine glass still in hand. It was not like him to keep anything that had become tattered or too old to wear.

The last of her mouthful of wine was swiftly downed. She set the glass on the table and stood, gesturing for him to follow her,    
“Knowing your wardrobe, I expect we’ll have to lop a few buttons off of it and maybe spill a cup of tea on it.” She chuckled pausing at the foot of the stairs to glance back over her shoulder at him, an almost wicked gleam in her eyes. “There’s a horrible shirt Ygrinne made me pack that I hate which I can take a knife to.”

“Oh if we’re making customisation.” His face suddenly filled with glee at the idea of ‘dressing for the occasion’ “I do have an older tunic or two we could take to work on.” He laughed as he rushed up the stairwell toward what was obviously his bedroom, and more importantly, his wardrobe.

Nasrinne had to hold back her laughter as Pascalle raced up the stairs. She supposed he hadn’t really done much of this sort of thing. She’d never really deeply considered how different their upbringing must have been. Of course, she’d known Pascalle’s family was far wealthier than hers. But there were some things which she just sort of expected were the same for everyone. Sharing clothes with your siblings because you’re still growing so there’s no point buying a brand-new coat. Eating  _ marrons _ glacés when they were still too hot and burned your fingers. Swimming at Riversmeet in the summer and catching morphos. But it wasn’t the same for everyone.   
Nasrinne had been given plenty of hand-me-downs from her sister over the years, it didn’t take long for tunics to get ripped and boots to get scuffed when you spent almost every day wrangling wilful young chocobos so it would have been wasteful to buy something new  _ every _ time she ruined a smock or a pinafore.   
Plus, she and Jhulayne must have played dress-up with their father’s broken bits of armour and their mother’s old fur stoles a hundred times or more when they were young.    
But those weren’t the sort of memories Pascalle had of his childhood. She rummaged through her bag to find the aforementioned  _ ugly yellow blouse _ , meandering her way after him with it in hand.    
  
“Did you manage to find your horrible shirt yet, Nas?” He called out, she couldn’t see his face but anyone could hear the smile in his voice. 

“It wasn’t hard to find. It was where I always keep it.At the very bottom under everything else I’d rather wear.” She leaned against the door frame, watching as he rummaged about, head deep in the cupboard.

It wasn’t long before he emerged, holding out an old woollen tunic, some of the edges around the cuffs had started to fray and the blue dye had begun to wash out in small splotches. He held it out proudly to Nasrinne.    
  
“What do you think? Perhaps a few little alterations here and there?”    
  
“I think we can make it work.” She nodded, grinning back at him.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Nasrinne & Pascalle’s Apartment; The Goblet_ **

Back downstairs she tossed her ugly, yellow shirt onto the table and made her way to the fire place, raking some soot out. Pascalle gingerly laid out the tunic he had selected beside it, a smile on his face from ear to ear.    
  
“Do you have any scissors we can use?” She said as she spun around, her hands full of ash and a few bits of charcoal that had toppled too close to the grating and gone out.

“Scissors?” It seemed like the sort of thing Mintori would think of providing an apartment he let out to tourists. “In the drawer?” His own question was answered only a second later as he pulled them out, snipping at the air. He waggled his eyebrows as he headed directly back to the table, picking up his tunic in the other hand, hastily.   
  
“First order of business is to get everything really dirty though. I read a mystery novel a few years ago and the hero fooled the bandits into believing they were a new recruit by using things like soot and food and wine and tea to stain their clothes… now, I don’t always think fiction is to be believed, but it does rather make sense that if you want to blend in somewhere, you need to look the part.” 

Realising he was apparently getting ahead of himself, he placed both tunic and scissors back on the dining room table and took a step back. Watching as she dumped the soot onto the plate the cheese had been on, and began assembling the usable bits of their supper into two piles of the remaining plates. Then she picked up their mostly empty wine glasses and handed one back to him.   
“No wonder you always have your head stuck in a book.” He laughed “There must be a million great ideas spinning around up there.”    
She really did seem to have a plan for any eventuality, he thought, taking the glass from her. 

“I don’t know about a million… maybe one or two in a pinch.” She shook her head, letting the curtain of her hair hide the bashful smile on her lips. 

He looked across at her for guidance, it felt as if he was doing something wrong, as if he would be getting in trouble for it at any second. “Should I just?”

_ Yes _ , she wanted to tell him. But not just  _ yes, pour it all over it, spill the wine on it, Pascalle _ . More than that she wanted to tell him  _ he should just _ do whatever he wants to. Because you don’t get that many chances to do what you want in the grand scheme of things, so you really should just take every single one of them...    
But of course, she couldn’t even take her own advice on that subject currently. Which meant there was no way she was going to say it. It would make her a hypocrite. So…

“Yeah.” She said instead with a smile, picking up a handful of soot.   
  
Pascalle was absorbed by the way her hair danced in front of her smile, if he didn’t know any better he would think it a calculated way to make him swoon. 

“Go nuts?” it was more a question of permission to himself. He hesitated for just a moment then he tipped the dregs of his glass of wine out. Red droplets staining the cuff of the sleeve like 

“Can’t forget about the back.” She added with a laugh, flipping it over and repeating the process. 

Pascalle giggled playfully as he vigorously rubbed a pile of soot into the old tunic. His enjoyment for such a pointless task surprising even himself.    
“Oh, the back. Of course.” He flipped the tunic with little thought, a cloud ash spreading over the table and onto the floor, as well as over his nice silk shirt. He looked up at Nasrinne shocked, expecting a slap around the head at any second. His whole body tensed until he realised she hadn’t even made much notice of it at all as she was making a mess of her own (albeit smaller). It was funny to Pascalle. Despite everything he was more at ease than he had ever been. His tongue may have been poking out of the corner of his mouth as his eyes kept darting toward Nas, following the lead on her wearing process. 

In truth, it worked quite well. The cloth looked tarnished and worn, there were a few streaks here and there. As if the person wearing it had been rolling around in the Thanalan dust for a few suns.    
“Next step is to try and get rid of all the ruffles and decorative bits. Like those handsome buttons on the cuffs there.” She nodded toward the arms of his shirt. 

Pascalle held the tunic’s sleeve up in his hand.    
“It seems such a shame.” He turned it around, the buttons facing Nas. “They’re such nice buttons…” he trailed off.    
  
“They are nice, that’s why they’ve got to go.” Nasrinne chuckled,    
  
“Right, hand me the scissors.” With a quick snip here and there they popped off with a satisfying ‘ _ tink _ ’ on the wooden dining table.    
  
“We can sew them back on afterwards if you like.” Did Pascalle know how to sew? She didn’t know, it didn’t matter anyway. She’d just show him if he didn’t know. 

“Oh after the mess I’ve just made of it?” he laughed, scooping up the silver embossed buttons into his hand and sliding them into his pants pocket. “I’m sure I can repurpose them for something else.” The buttons jingled together as he gave his pocket a light tap.    
“Well what do you think?” he beamed at her. “Are we ready to join the masses?” 

“ _ You’re _ ready,” She winked as she took the scissors from him, “I’m almost ready…” She said, lopping off the fancy bell sleeves at the elbow. “There.” She nodded, satisfied. It was a clean cut, but there were a few loose threads here and there, which really sold the look. “No jewelry either… Can’t take my bow, there’s no way to hide that unless I had a potato sack handy… which I don’t…” She glanced toward him again, “and your sword’s probably a bit too well-made. Have you got a hunting knife or something?” It wouldn’t do to be going into the rough part of town unarmed.   


“I have just the thing.” He called out as he ran back up the stairs, tunic in hand. He returned a moment later with a short boot knife in his hand and placed it on the table. “Not much but it should do the trick I don’t expect we should find trouble unless we look for it.” 

“We don’t want to carry too much coin. But enough to be able to bribe a drunk or two if we have to… a hundred-and-fifty gil each should do it. Then we can probably bribe a few people!” She grinned at him shamelessly, she probably shouldn’t be so excited about the prospect of going out and bribing Ul’dahn citizens in the middle of the night. But there was something thrilling about it. “Oh, we should bring the bottle of wine too!” She exclaimed suddenly, “It’s a good cover, we’ll look like drunks ourselves. Plus, it will double as a weapon! We can break it over someone’s head if things go poorly.” She nodded, quite pleased with this burst of inspiration. ”

“You best hold onto the gil there’s a good chance I’ll lose it without my satchel.” His smile was playful, not that he was one to specifically go _looking_ for trouble. It seemed their enthusiasm was playing off each other.   


\---

**_Pearl Lane; Ul’dah_ **

Without his sword and dressed down as he was Pascalle felt nearly naked. The heat from the day had dissipated, a cool breeze flowed through the winding alleys as they approached Pearl Lane. Pas brought the bottle of Rosso to his lips and tipped it back, a few drops dribbling from the side of his lips. He let out a long breathy  _ Ah _ of satisfaction as he passed the bottle to Nas, leaning in to whisper to her,    
“Am I looking the part?” He giggled. 

The heat from his breath tickled the side of her neck as he laughed softly beside her ear. And Nasrinne was forced to swallow a dangerous sigh, lest it slip from her throat. Her hand closed around the bottle, and she took a swig herself.    
  
“You always look the part.” She whispered back with a crooked smile, then she looked up at the sky. The hour was approaching the twelfth bell, if the stars were any indication. 

A few drunks argued on the corner ahead, playfully; as drunks are wont to do. Certainly not lucid enough to question about anything. The boisterous group paid them no mind as they passed. Which suited her fine, she was secretly enjoying herself too much, strolling leisurely beside Pascalle, to want to have to worry about drawing blades. Of course, Nasrinne had also brought along a knife. It was sheathed in her boot, where she always kept it. It was not a particularly fearsome looking knife, it’s blade was flat and thin and had a slight curve to it. It was a knife used to take cuttings from plants. It could also skin a rabbit. It was a proper survivalists tool, and well balanced. The same one she’d had in the Shroud when they had run into Dione and Brynne.

It wasn’t surprising Pearl Lane was empty, it was part of the mercantile district, filled with offices. Many of them belonging to merchant’s who did their business in the Sapphire Exchange. Not Tristione though. He kept his office closer to Onyx Lane, and the Hustings Strip. Smart, really considering he mostly sold his wares ahead of time. To the very merchants whose dark and empty offices they were walking past now. But Tristione was a very smart man. You didn’t last long as a midlander courtier in Ishgard if you weren’t. No matter how minor.

“Mintori’s isn’t that far from here…” She mused, striking up conversation as she passed the bottle back to him. “I wonder if one of these is the back entrance to his shop?”

“Tojiri’s is the next lane over.” Pas quipped as he took the bottle back for another taste. 

If they were out for any other reason, Pascalle might have considered this a date (despite the inappropriate attire). It almost felt like he could pretend he had another life where he wasn’t born into home such as his own, where duty and obligation were not at the forefront of his upbringing. Not a care in the world where he could walk the streets blissfully enjoying the night with a beautiful woman. But Hemmet’s words about Nasrinne’s father and this investigation into the brotherhood hung over his head like a dark cloud. How she could even stroll beside him like this when it was his flesh and blood that had brought such sorrow down upon her, he didn’t understand. But he was most grateful for it, nonetheless. He was contemplating how he might explain that to her, when an unexpected sound reached their ears; it was laughter. But not the laughter of a drunk, a child’s. 

Nasrinne quirked a brow at Pascalle, about to ask him if he had heard the faint sound from one of the alcoves up ahead. Then, the juvenile giggling was joined by another voice, then another…    
“Shall we go and see what all that’s about?” 

He met her quirked brow with an inquisitive look of his own. Holding a finger to his lip as he nodded in agreement, taking the lead and creeping closer toward the sound. As they approached the corner of the alcove the voices became clearer.

Peeking around the corner they could see three Hyur children playing some type of game. Two boys and a very young girl who couldn’t be older than five years old. 

“ _ Hand it over, Pawa. You lost fair and square this time _ .” Said one of the boys, he looked like the eldest of the trio, perhaps twelve or thirteen.

They were huddled under the lamp hanging over a service entrance of what looked to be a tavern.    
“ _ You said you would go easy cause’ I'm only little. _ ” The girl whined.    
  
Pascalle looked back to Nasrinne from his shadowy corner.   


“They might have seen something if they’re out here at such odd hours… where are their parents?” Maybe he didn’t want that carefree life after all.

“Children notice lots of things adults don’t. They’re usually a lot smarter than people give them credit for.” Nasrinne’s slender fingers hugged the corner of the sandstone wall as she peeked around it from beneath his shoulder. Her eyes snapped from the children, to the dimly lit windows of the alehouse and back to Pascalle again. 

“We’re closer to the Dunes now, I expect.” She murmured, “Their Mother’s are probably working… if they’ve got any. They could just as easily be orphans, after all.”    
  
“Back when I’d patrol the Brume there were always kids willing to trade a bit of information for a few gil...” He agreed. 

Nasrinne nodded once, then stepped out of the shadow of the building, strolling into the circle of lamplight.   
  
“Hello.” She said simply to the three startled children, “Marbles, is it?” She asked them cheerfully, “I do love a good game of marbles, who’s winning?”    
Three pairs of wide eyes stared up at her, each with a different expression. Alarm from the youngest, the small girl. Pawa they’d called her. Then curiosity from one of the boys, the younger one. The eldest boy’s gaze, however, couldn’t have been described as anything other than defiant. 

“Radu’s winning.” He said, jerking his thumb toward the other boy, “What’s it to you?” 

“Well, I just told you. I love a good game of marbles. I might join in.” 

“Well, it’s up to me if you join in.” The boy told her quite authoritatively. 

“How much are you winning by, Radu?” She turned her gaze toward the younger boy as she addressed him,

“Twelve. I just won all of Pawa’s marbles.” He told her proudly. 

“Twelve. All her marbles, well no goodness she doesn’t want to give them up.”  She glanced up at Pascalle over her shoulder hearing the sounds of his footfalls behind her. He’d hidden the bottle at the corner before he followed her out into the light.   
“Did you hear that, Pas?” She said to him as he appeared, “Radu’s just won all of Pawa’s marbles.” 

If Nasrinne had seemed large and perhaps somewhat intimidating to the little group, Pascalle seemed very much like a giant. They stared up at him with a sort of awestruck apprehension.   
“This is my friend Pas.” Nasrinne said casually, pointing toward him with her thumb in a mimicry of the leading boy’s earlier action. “I’m Nasrinne, but you can call me Nas.” 

Pascalle really hammed it up.    
“You won all of them?” He exclaimed as he raised both hands in the air. Nasrinne had to stifle a giggle. 

An immensely proud expression was smeared across Radu’s little face as he tilted his head skyward toward Pascalle.    
“Yep twelve of em’ like she said.” He told him with a gap-toothed grin.

“Well that’s no good then is it? Who are you going to play with if you took all of Pawa’s marbles?” Pascalle gestured to the small girl, who was looking very indignant. Radu looked down at the marbles in his hand, as if with a sudden realisation of this fact. 

“We don’t  _ have _ any marbles,” He looked toward Nasrinne with one of his roguish smiles, “But we do have some gil, right Nas? Maybe we could buy a few from you?”

The eldest boy piped up before anyone else spoke.    
“Hey! I didn’t say you could play. Why are you bothering us?” He huffed, tugging at the brim of his cap as he stood straight and took a step toward Pascalle, he squinted at the pair of Elezen. 

“You gotta pay 3 fer each marble.” The boy told them, thinking this exorbitant amount would prompt the duo into leaving. 

Nasrinne gave a little tut,    
“Well, if paying you for three gil each for some marbles is bothering you…” She gave a shrug, making rather a large show of turning to leave.

“Wait, wait, don’t worry about Snads!” The smaller one, Radu, piped up hurriedly, “I’ll sell you my marbles!” He reached out with his small, slightly grubby hand grabbing a hold of the edge of her blouse. 

She paused, pretending to hum thoughtfully.   
“Alright….” She said, “We’ll just buy six from you. Three each.” She pointed between herself and Pascalle, and then unhooked the purse from her belt, beginning to count out the coins.  “And we’ll tip you two gil, just to keep it nice and even in your pockets.” She said, handing twenty gil over to Radu, was staring at the shiny round discs with his jaw slightly agape. Pascalle tried to hide the amusement on his own face with a hand as he watched the two youngest youngsters’ faces light up as the pile of coins were handed over. 

She gestured for Pascalle to pick out some marbles, not that it mattered. They weren’t actually going to keep them. 

He knelt down where the game was being played.    
“Hrmmmm.” They all basically looked the same but he thought he’d best make a show of it, clicking his fingers as if it were difficult to decide which six he might pick.    
  
“The Cat’s eye was my favourite...” Pawa murmured softly, her bottom lip trembling slightly. The threat of fresh tears glimmering at the corner of her eyes. The marble in question was indeed there among Radu’s collection. A handsome twisting ribbon of green and yellow paint frozen in the centre of the glass. Pascalle plucked it up,flicking it with his thumb at the little girl’s feet. 

“It won’t do if you have no marbles to play us with, will it?” He said, offering her a cheeky smile.    
The child squealed with joy, quickly snatching it up off the ground.    
  
“Oi, Radu. Pawa.” Snads barked sharply, “Don’t be talking so much to these knife ears.” Stepping toward Nasrinne and Pascalle, regarding them both with even more suspicion than he had before. 

_ Knife ears?  _ Had he heard this young man correctly.  _ The little brat _ . His head snapped toward the cocksure lad with a frown.

“Knife ears?” Nasrinne lofted a brow at the self-appointed ring leader. “Who taught you that?”

“That’s what my uncle calls your lot.” Snads said with something of a sneer, “You lot being around here ain’t nothing but trouble. That’s what my uncle says.”

“Your uncle calls us knife ears, hmm?” Nasrinne let her fingers trail along the long tapered tip of one of her offending appendages. “Well that’s alright, we’ve got a name for your Uncle, too.”   
  
“What? How do you know my Uncle? What name have you got for him?” Snads demanded, half indignant, half nervous she really did know his Uncle somehow.

“We call him a bigot.” Nasrinne replied, looking up at Pascalle again with one of her crooked smiles. 

“I ain’t heard that one before, lady.” 

Pascalle couldn’t help himself, chuckling at Nasrinne’s little quip.    
“Do you see a lot of us knife ears down about these parts? I bet we really stand out down here, right?”

Snads looked over to his two friends, both happier for the Elezen’s arrival. His head swivelled up and down the alleyway as if he was checking the area was clear.    
“Why? What’s it worth to ya? You two seem to have some coin to spare.” The cheekiest of grins spread over his face. 

“How much is it worth, do you think?” She cocked her head slyly, “Another twenty gil?”    
Pawa made a hushed gasp suddenly. Clearly the thought of forty gil was a lot of money to her. She let her eyes drift casually over Radu and Snads, gauging their reactions too. Radu looked shocked beyond belief, that she might have another twenty gil in her pouch. Snads, however, looked calculating.

“ _ Thirty _ .” He said to her. “ _ Thirty _ , and I’ll answer your question.” 

“ _ Snads _ .” Radu whispered, still slightly shaken, “Don’t be greedy.”

“Snads is it?” Nasrinne said finally, her eyes settling on the oldest boy.

“Yeah, that’s right.” He replied defensively, “It’s what my friends calls me. But my name’s  _ Snade _ .”

“I tell you what,  _ Snade _ .” Nasrinne said, using the name he’d just given her.  _ “Show _ us where you’ve heard these other  _ knife ears _ hang about, and we’ll give you thirty gil.” She glanced back to Pas, “That seems fair, doesn’t it?” 

Snads calculating gaze never left Pascalle’s face as the Elezen tapped a finger against his lips in thought. 

“Hrmm.” He was making a show of it again. “Thirty gil seems quite steep. But. I can tell you’ll make it worth our while.” Pas nodded at Nasrinne in agreement. Snads expression stayed much the same, but the other children's eyes lit up. He knew the kid thought they were a couple of rubes and thirty gil to show them a few places was nearing extortion, but it would likely put food in their bellies for many nights. 

“So these other knife ears do much around here, Snade?” Pas asked casual as pie, as if he didn’t really care for the answer. Snads leaned back on the wall of the tavern, his hands slipped into his pockets as he waited for Nasrinne to count out the thirty gil. “Could you show us where we might run into them?”

“Depends who you want to meet… there's ‘Drunk Barton’ he hangs out near the gate of Thal.” He smirked up at them, knowing this wasn’t close to what they would want to know. Clearly just wanting to give them a hard time and test their patience.

The promise of so much gil was too tantalizing for his comrades to allow this, however. 

“Snads nobody wants to see Barton.” Radu piped up. 

“Yeah he smells bad.” Pawa chimed in helpfully. 

Nasrinne’s hand flitted down to rest upon her hip as she hummed thoughtfully.   
“A smelly Elezen doesn’t sound too exciting.” She agreed, nodding in a sort of affirmation to Pawa’s comment. “Besides, we don’t want to know about the ones who hang out at the Gates of Thal. We want to know about the ones who hang out  _ here _ .” She placed a careful emphasis on the word ‘here’ trusting that the young Snade would know what she meant by the way she said it. He seemed a canny enough boy. 

“The ones who hang out  _ here _ .” He repeated, mimicking her tone as he looked between her and Pascalle slowly. “Radu, Pawa,” He said their names sternly as he looked at them, “Clear off inside and tell Missus Scully that twenty just came from a porter’s job I took and youse two are to stay inside until Ma comes to pick us up.” He crossed his arms over his chest as he puffed it out, doing his best to look as tall and imposing as possible.   
  
“ _ Awwww _ .” Came the very disgruntled reply from little Radu, (by this stage Nasrinne had picked him for a scrawny ten year old.) “They said they wanted to play marbles…”   
  
“We’re going to play marbles later.” Snads turned a disapproving scowl on the younger boy, who pouted. “You’re not allowed outside without me, remember?”

Pawa gave a sigh that was far too weary sounding for her tender age, tugging at the sleeve of Radu’s shirt.   
“Come on.” She said to him. “Snads has to go to work.”   
  
“Here, why don’t you keep our marbles safe for us while we’re gone.” Nasrinne suggested, kneeling down, “You can play a round or two inside until we get back.”

Pawa let go of Radu excitedly and took the rest of the marbles in her little hands.    
“We’ll take good care of them.” She chirped as she ran toward the door, careful not to spill any. “ _ Come on _ , Radu.” She called impatiently over her shoulder. 

Snads watched them both until the door was safely shut behind them.

\---


	3. Chapter 3

**_Pearl Lane; Ul’dah_ **

Pascalle turned to look at Snade, raising an eyebrow at the boy.   
“Alright lad, show us where we might find these other knife ears.” He gestured for the boy to show them the way. 

“Do ya really know what you’re asking  _ old man _ ?” He asked them, suddenly sounding a lot graver than he had in front of the other children. “I don’t think youse wanna have anything to do with this lot. Bunch of brutes.” He spat on the ground.    
  
“Hey. I’m not  _ that _ old.” Pas laughed at the gall of this kid. “We know what we’re asking, right?” He turned to Nasrinne with a wink as Snade led them back out the alley toward Pearl Lane again. 

Nasrinne had to hide her laughter behind her hand as Pascalle protested the youths jibe. She supposed they were old, to some. Still she felt about a twelvemoon younger sneaking about like this. “We do know what we’re asking.” She agreed, her lips curling somewhat coyly at the knight’s brazen wink. 

They left the half-drunk bottle of rosso where it lay for now, Snade assuring them no one would spot it. (Although Nasrinne wasn’t wholly convinced.)

After a short walk they approached another alley, Snade held his hand up to hush the two of them.    
“It’s down  _ here.”  _ He nodded his head subtly toward the corner.

“Let’s keep onwards for a bit, Snads.” She said quietly, “You can tell us what you know about these  _ brutes _ , we can slip you your gil and you can head off on your merry way.”    
None the wiser to what the two of them might do once he was safely back at the dingy pub, waiting for his Mother’s shift to finish.   
Snads looked up at her, his eyes bright and beady in his small face. 

“What, leave you lot to go snooping round there turn up dead tomorrow? Because that’s what’ll happen to ya. Especially if ya don’t know which door down that alley goes where.” He scoffed as he led them onward. “You don’t know who I am, lady.” He said “Ain’t nothing that happens around here at night that I don’t know about.” He tapped his nose, “You think I’m ex-aggerating.” The boy continued, dragging out the start of the word. “Adults always d-.”   
  
“I don’t think you’re exaggerating.” Nasrinne replied smoothly, cutting him off. “Drunks talk. You’re waiting at a pub for your Mother. I’m sure her and her friends talk when they come to have a bite to eat after they finish working. What else have you to do but listen and watch?” She shrugged.

Snads looked at her for a moment, as if he was still trying to fully understand what she had said. It wasn’t that though, it was the  _ way _ she’d said it to him. Like  _ he _ was an adult. He looked up at Pascalle then as he realised this.   
  
“What about you? You think I’m ex-aggerating?” He asked him, almost like a challenge.

“No.” Pas shook his head at the boy. “I couldn’t believe your eyes were shielded to the nature of people, growing up around here. And your self-confidence is reassuring, lad. So I’ll take you at your word until you prove me wrong.” He smiled at the boy. 

“Until  _ I  _ prove ya wrong? Yer gonna be waitin’ a long-time old man.” Snads laughed, waving them onward as he turned down the alleyway. 

It took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust as they turned the corner. This alleyway was darker than the other, and narrower. There were no torches adorning the walls, only a few rays of moonlight made it down past the tall buildings. Here and there a few old barrels and shipping crates were stacked beside backdoors. But there was not much else other than a deadend. Nasrinne counted them as they passed; _two on the left, three on the right_.  
  
Snads finally came to a stop just before the alley reached its end. There, nestled into the stone wall was a blue steel door with a viewing hatch, all but obscured by the haphazard pile of crates and barrels. 

The boy jerked a thumb at it casually, tugging down on his cap with his other hand,   
“That’s the one.” He whispered. 

She chewed her lip as she looked at Snads, keeping to the shadows of the walls.    
“So.” She said to the boy as she squinted just making out the grate and the lock. “Which doors lead where?” She gestured vaguely up and down the alley. There was no pointing in hiding what they wanted to do from a streetwise shrimp like this one, she’d decided. “Say we were going to come back here early in the morning.”   
Snads sucked on his teeth for a moment.    
  
“Brown one in the middle sells fancy sweetmeats and sausages to the noble folk,” He nodded to the side of the street they stood on, with the three doors. “but the man who runs it is orright. Doesn’t mind if you slip through to get yourself out of trouble and sometimes gives out jerky.” He pointed across the street, “Green door there is a nasty alchemist.” He spat again, “And then the other sort of… dirty white one, that’s an  _ aesty _ , an  _ aesta-titch _ …” Snads gave up trying to pronounce the word. “A hairdresser.” He said instead. “Nice lady, she’ll let you pass if you tell her you need to use the washroom.” Then he gave a shrug, “Thems the only things worth knowing about those doors.” His eyes swivelled back toward the blue steel door at the end of the street with a telling gaze.

“Snads.” Pascalle called the boy's name sharply, gaining his attention as he jerked his head back up toward the towering Elezen. “Have you seen what lies behind the door?” Pas nodded toward the blue steel door at the end of the street where Snade’s attention had been so fixed.

“I ain’t exactly been in there..” He chewed on his lip. “Mikey and me tried once or twice until we copped a flogging.” The boy seemed somewhat proud flashing a cocksure grin at Pascalle. 

“They  _ beat _ you?” Nasrinne couldn’t help herself.

“Kicked us and everythin’ yeah. They’re real mean knife ears. He sniffed disdainfully, looking back toward the door. “ Not like you two. You two seem orright.”

She looked toward Pascalle, aghast. It was one thing for a Mother to give her son a good slap (although her Mother had never hit her.) But for a  _ stranger _ to beat a child for simply doing what children do and nosing about where they shouldn’t. Her lips curled down into a cold frown. 

“I’ll tell ya what I ‘ave seen though.” Snads continued, “I seen the some tough looking knife ears coming in and out  _ all _ the time and sometimes even the guard go knockin with a wagon full ov crates.” The boy pointed to his chest with his thumb. “They hardly ever see me though, I’m too quiet.” He smirked again, “Reckon it might be pretty interesting inside though… Ain’t no shopfront on the opposite street either.”  ****

Pas fought the urge to outright laugh as his eyes met Nasrinne’s with a telling gaze. This had to be the place the brotherhood had setup and this child had just exposed it for thirty gil.    
“Well I think you’ve earned your gil, lad.”    
  
“Pas is right . You’re thirty gil richer now, so let’s get you back to your siblings and your marbles where you can keep it safe with Missus Scully, was it?”    
Snads gave a shrug, nodding and then beckoning them to follow him as he scampered back up the street under the cover of the shadows.   
Nasrinne’s frown returned once his back was turned, she looked up at Pascalle. For a moment she was about to ask him what sort of brutes would beat a child. But then, she remembered he knew the sort all too well already.

“I suppose he really is a chip off the old block then, Dione.” She whispered beneath her breath. 

“Dione will get what’s coming to him soon enough.” He murmured darkly in reply, as they followed Snads, back to the brighter lights of Pearl Lane.

When they arrived, Radu and Pawa were once again out on the street completely absorbed by another game of marbles. “Hey! Did I not tell you lot to take it inside?” Snade questioned as they walked up. “   
Ma’s not done yet.” Pawa said, looking up with a sleepy face.    
Pascalle glanced toward Nasrinne, counting the gil they’d promised the boy, a look of quiet concern creeping into his eyes.    
  
“Are you here every night?” Nasrinne asked as she caught Pascalle’s expression. 

Snads nodded ambivalently.    
“Most nights.” 

“Where is it that you stay?” 

“Outside the city, we stay just outside the walls of the city. In the tents.” Snads replied, “Why?” 

“Well, we never got to play that game of marbles...” She said with a crooked smile, “So perhaps we’ll come and see you…” She trailed off as the boy studied her discerningly, scratching the side of his nose with one hand, holding the other out expectantly toward her.    
She handed the gil over to him.   
  
“Sometimes I do some work here.” He jerked his thumb behind him toward the service house as he tucked it into his pocket. “And sometimes I run errands for coin up and down the lane.”

“I see. So there’s plenty of places to catch you. Then I’m sure we’ll see you again soon, Snade.” She gave him a wink as they made to leave.

“Whatever you say, lady.” He laughed, before turning his attention back to the unsanctioned game of marbles, his face grown stern.    
“ _ What did I say to youse? _ ” They heard him scold them again.   
  
Nasrinne was well pleased to find the bottle of rosso was where they’d left it. She grabbed it up again as they rounded the corner, the sound of Snade rounding up his siblings fading into the distance.   
  
“Perhaps Mintori could find a way to get a decent sum to the Mother. Get them in a school or something…” It was a suggestion, but even she didn’t find it convincing. “Sounded like they’re refugees from Ala Mhigo.”    
The moon was high, and milky pale across the quiet city streets as they made their way back home to the Goblet. It wouldn’t be long before dawn.    
  
_ Just like the Brume back in Ishgard _ . His heart hurt to see innocent children suffering in the streets at the hands of thugs. Pascalle smiled warmly at her suggestion, it was a kind thought.    
“I would hazard a guess that you’re right, we can talk to Mintori about it once today is behind us.” 

“I think I’ll make a pot of coffee when we get back.” She sighed as she swigged from the bottle of wine. “I don’t think I’ll get much sleep anyway. It’s been an elusive beast of late…” 

And she was right. There would be no sleeping, for either of them, before the allotted time with Hemmet rolled around.

\---

**_The next morning_ **

The sun had risen, its rays had crept across the clean wood floors at Tojori’s Gems, slowly they drowned out the merry winking of the lamp above the front door, which had been lit while the pale membrane of twilight had still covered the sky.    
Dawn came, and went. And Hemmet never arrived. A part of Nasrinne had always known he wouldn’t. After she had heard his voice break that day in the ship’s cabin, she had always known it was the last time she’d hear it. There had been a twinge in her gut then, she had no word for the feeling. It rushed there swift as a fire burned bracken, but it felt cold as a Coerthan wind. She shuddered as she remembered the feeling.

“That’s the sixth bell.” She said quietly as she listened to the chime of the clock behind the desk. Her lips drew into a thin line, “Poor Hemmet.” It was all she could bring herself to say. Because all three of them knew the reason for the Sergeant's absence was not likely to be because he was off sunning himself in Costa del Sol. 

“What will you do?” Mintori asked them as he looked between them.

The funny thing about Mintori was that he never seemed terribly disapproving when he asked these sort of questions. It was more a genuine sort of inquiry. 

Pascalle had sat quietly at the counter of Tojiri’s gems since the fifth bell when they had arrived, hardly moving. By the time the sixth had tolled, the sun had already started to peek its head upon the horizon. Mintori had been periodically freshening his tea each time it grew cold. Poor Hemmet indeed, no matter his grievances with the man, he did not deserve death at the hands of a butcher like Dione. Pas let out a long sigh at the Lalafells question.

“We know where it is.” She turned toward Pascalle, “We’ll have to go there ourselves.” She tried to steel her voice to keep the apprehension from it, but it showed in her eyes.

This man they were going after was a murderer. This Brotherhood was steeped in innocent blood… how could she not be afraid.

He nodded solemnly in agreement with Nasrinne. “And before they move any evidence. If they were on to Hemmet then they could have started cleaning house already.”

“Mintori.” She said turning her dark eyes back to him, “Do you know a sweetmeats shop near here that backs onto one of the little laneways off of Pearl? One run by a man. A Hyur I expect.” After all, Snads hadn’t given the other shop keepers any colourful names; like  _ knife ears _ . 

“Fiske’s Delicatessen.” Mintori nodded, “I know the place you mean.”

She set her shoulders back and took a small breath.   
“We’re going to need you to have a chat with him. We might need to borrow the back of his shop for a spell this morning before he opens…”    
The brown door was a good route of escape. Snads had made as much known to them when he had described  _ the only things worth knowing _ about the doors in the lane. She looked up at Pas again to see if he was following her plan. “And… have you got any files and pins you can spare us?” 

Pascalle knew exactly what Nasrinne was getting at. With a swift escape place, they could break in there themselves and before anyone was the wiser. 

“As a matter of fact, I do.” The Lalafell eyed Pascalle questioningly as he jumped to his feet and trotted toward the back counter, sliding one of the wooden panels open. “And you can have them. If you two promise to be careful.” He turned around with a small leather wrapped bundle. 

Was that… a locksmiths kit? Pascalle cocked his head to the side, slightly amused. 

“I trust you know how to use these? I could always show you a thing or two you know.” Mintori chuckled, patting the top of the leather bundle as he handed it to Nasrinne. “I’ll contact Fiske now.” Mintori added. Pascalle just shook his head “Right, then we’re off to Pearl Lane.” he walked toward the door, holding it open for Nasrinne.

Nasrinne couldn’t help but smirk a little as Mintori fetched the locksmith’s kit for them. 

“We’re always careful.” She replied, although perhaps that wasn’t entirely truthful. She gave a little haphazard shrug, “Well, we try to be.” She took the kit from him, flipping the leather flap and looking at the assortment of picks and rakes. She slid out a hook pick, turning it over between her fingers. “I’ve read a book about it. How to pick a lock.” She said looking back toward Mintori. “I think I’ll be alright. A lot of it’s about pressure, it’s the same with the flute and the harp.” She slid it back and flipped the pouch closed. “Though perhaps I’ll have to take some tips from you another time, Mintori.” She chuckled to herself, the Lalafell was certainly full of surprises. Her eyes flickered toward Pascalle and she took another deep breath.

“Right.” She agreed with a nod. “Hopefully we’ll see you soon,” She nodded to the Lalafell. 

Then the two of them were out through the back door, just a street or two away from their intended destination. It was funny how in a city so big, everything could suddenly seem so small.    
The beginnings of the morning bustle had already started, the streets weren’t packed with their usual throngs of people, but there were still merchants wheeling their carts to set up their stalls in the Fronds, and the odd few groups of refugee labourers. Walking the streets to find some handiwork to earn some coin. 

“No shop on the other side…” Nasrinne mused aloud to herself. “Which begs the question of where that door would lead to. Perhaps the ruins beneath the city?” 

Pascalle mostly kept his head down as they made their way through the steadily filling streets. Even though he knew in his heart they were doing this for the right reasons, he couldn’t help but feel himself like a criminal. He’d come better prepared than last night, a short sword was strapped to his belt only covered by a loose overcoat which he held close to his side. 

“I’ve been wondering that myself.” What if there was nothing there but another dead end? He turned his head toward her as they approached the back of the tavern, now hidden from the morning crowds his face seemed to fill with eagerness. “Well there’s only one way to find out.”

It didn’t take long to reach the dead-end alleyway. Even in the morning light, the buildings cast dark shadows and it was still dark all the way from the end to the sweetmeats shop’s door. “Mintori should have contacted Fiske by now, I hope he’s expecting us.” he said with a worried look on his face as he went to knock on the wooden door. 

It opened after just two raps from his knuckle, and Pascalle found himself face to face with Fiske. Literally face to face with him, for the Roedagyn was the same height as the elezen.    
“Mintori’s friends, I presume.” He said. It wasn’t really a question. Nasrinne nodded, and he gestured for them to step inside. 

“We’ll try and keep this quick, Master Fiske.” She said. “Might we bother you to keep this door unlocked and perhaps just a  _ touch _ ajar for say... ten ticks or so this morning?” 

“Without any questions about what you need me to do that for.” This also wasn’t a question. The Roedagyn brought his thick fingers through the crop of mossy green hair on his head with something of a sigh as he looked between them. “That’s quite a favour.” 

Nasrinne held her breath, for once shutting up in an intensely awkward situation. But it was because she already knew what he was thinking; he didn’t know these two. He didn’t know what they were about. 

“Tojori has never sent any trouble my way before.” He said finally his eyes settling into an expression of resigned determination. “Let’s hope this isn’t the first time.” He mumbled it as he walked away from them. For a moment, Nasrinne thought this was the best they were getting. This sort of, reluctant affirmation of their question. Her eyes flickered toward Pascalle, a glimmer of apprehension creeping across them.   
Then the Roe returned with a wad of butcher’s parchment and opened the door. Folding the thin vellum sheet over and placing it in the lip of the strike plate where the door’s latch would usually click into place when it was shut. He gave it an experimental swing. The latch didn’t catch, it slid across the smoothly coated surface of the folded parchment almost soundlessly. Then he looked at them both again.

“Thank you, Master Fiske.” Nasrinne gave a little bow of her head. There wasn’t much else to say really. The Roedagyn grunted, somewhere between appreciative and dismissive. She didn’t really blame him, and it was better they didn’t waste time making small talk or trying to prove they weren’t up to something that could put him in a tricky situation. 

“I’ll leave it this way until the next bell, or until you come through it.” He said to them with a short nod as they stepped back outside.

The next bell was a lot more generous than they’d asked for. Snads was right about what was worth knowing about these doors. Nasrinne took a deep breath.   
“The seventh bell is plenty of time.” She said with as much confidence as she could muster, easing the little pouch of locksmith’s tools back out from her belt.   
“Alright, you keep watch up the alley.” She said, licking her bottom lip as she pressed her ear close to the keyhole of the door.    
Silence greeted her. Though she wasn’t really sure what she expected to hear through a thick steel door anyway. She pursed her lips as she studied the lock. “If we’re lucky…” she began to pull out the tools, beginning with the long, flattened hook, twirling it between her fingers as she examined it. “The key won’t have more than four teeth.” She went slowly, delicately applying the right amount of torque and pulling back if she felt too much resistance to try again. She went in for a third try, biting down on her bottom lip absently as she concentrated. This time she heard the grating sound as the final pin slid upwards and the lock opened with a satisfying  _ click _ .   
Nasrinne drew a deep breath as she glanced over her shoulder at Pascalle, unable to keep from smirking a little as she spoke,   
“Shall we?”

“Impressive, If I must be honest.” He gave a reaffirming smile as she had the door swinging open in no time at all. “I can imagine it is a skill that would come in handy, maybe you should be the one giving Mintori lessons?” Pas chuckled, jesting to hide his nerves. He let his overcoat fall open, unstrapping the short sword from his side as he placed a hand on the cold steel. “Time to find out what’s going on.” He pushed on the door, the cold metal screeched as it swung wide. 

Pascalle took a few steps inside, the sound of his steps ringing out across the stone floor. The light from the alley did little to help illuminate the room. It was dark save for a few small oil lanterns hung on the wall in a line before him. Most were out save one closest to the door. “Someone must have been here recently.” His voice sounded worried as he reached for the steel contraption and lifted its wooden handle from the hook it was perched on, turning the knob on its side as it sprung to life. The room was much larger than he had expected, Not far from where he stood he could see a few shipping crates marked with manifests.    
“It looks like a storehouse.” He remarked the obvious as he stepped further inside.H

er bow had been strapped low beneath her makeshift cloak and felt terribly awkward. So she was more than happy to shed her outer layer too. She tugged it from her neck. It was a quick and dirty door-jamb, but she threw it down by the frame and the steel hit it quietly, leaving it barely ajar. She watched as Pascalle grabbed the lantern, swinging it around the cavernous room.   
“I think you’re right.” She murmured. “What did Snads say? Sometimes the guard come knocking with wagons full of crates?” The light from the lantern cast long shadows across her face as she looked up at him. “What could Dione and the Brotherhood be keeping in all these boxes that they’re getting from the guard?” Nasrinne asked the question aloud, her frown growing deeper.    
  
She pulled out one of the files from Mintori’s little pouch and crouched down near one of the crates; her head turning this way and that as she inspected the nails that fastened the top down, and the gap she had available to work with. She chewed her bottom lip absently as she started to slide the file under the lid, giving it an experimental wiggle.    
The wood was just some old pine, it wasn’t as sturdy as the crates aboard a Vernisse Co. merchant ship. With a little force she managed to pry it up enough to start at some of the nails with the little needle nose pliers. There was a soft creak as she finally got a corner open. The next ones came much easier after that. It was too dim to really see what was in the box. At first she thought that whatever it was, it had cloth covering it. But after digging her hand around she realised it was nothing  _ but _ cloth. She tugged some out, her eyes narrowing as she tried to make it what she was holding. 

_ I told her that he wasn’t what he seemed… _ Fabrice has said to them.

“Uniforms…” She whispered, alongside a hushed gasp as everything suddenly made sense. She felt sick to her stomach.  _ That’s _ why Amandine had trusted Dione over Fabrice that fateful night at the Gold Saucer. She thought he was a guard.    
“They must be bringing old and damaged uniforms here. Once which rightly should probably be going to get recycled I expect… they’re recycling them all right. Just in a different way.” She dropped it back in the box and set the lid back on. She wasn’t going to bother with hammering the nails back down. Too noisy. There were too many chests and crates around for it all to be uniforms too. Who knows what else was stored here for the Brotherhoods means.   
She felt her teeth clench together as she turned toward Pascalle.   
His frown deepened,    
“Let’s keep poking around.” He whispered, “I think I can see a door back there.” Their footsteps echoing softly with each step he took further into the dark storeroom. As they made their way around the perimeter of the room there were plenty of crates and barrels, none of them marked with any manifest or identification as to what could be inside.

“Right. It doesn’t look like much more than a warehouse but nothing is marked.” He said. “And they can’t all contain uniforms. There’s got to be close to one hundred crates in here.” 

Nasrinne nodded in agreement,    
“That’s what I was thinking… but, they could be all sorts of things. Items confiscated by the guards, weapons…” She sighed, there was no way they’d have time to go through every one of these crates. And while the uniforms were incriminating, who would they go to? The Flames? According to Hemmet, he wasn’t the only hire on the Brotherhood’s payroll. 

Pascalle gestured ahead with his sword toward the door.    
“If it’s an office, maybe we can find a manifest or… something. To save us going through every single one of these.” He jiggled the handle, it opened to indeed reveal an office of sorts. Two bookshelves packed to the brim with binder files, a table in the middle of the room. And on top a few stacks of papers were spread about. Pas turned his gaze behind him to Nasrinne. 

“I’ll keep an eye out here.” He beckoned for her to take a look now that the coast seemed clear. 

“Let’s see what we’ve got here then.” She whispered as she moved past him into the room. The light from Pascalle’s lantern was dim, but she soon found another lamp on the desk. She twisted the knob only a little, not wanting to flood the room with light completely lest it shot her eyesight and stopped her from being able to read anything. She started with the papers on the desk first, lifting them in pairs and looking at each beneath the light. She didn’t really understand much that was written on the first few pages. It all seemed like a load of nonsense. Some kind of code.   
“Something here about fruit bearers?” She quirked a brow, setting them back in much the same spot she found them before she moved on to another two.

“Fruit bearers?” he repeated the words back to himself as he peeked his head back out into the storeroom. “It must be some sort of coded message.”

“I wish I had time to write all of this down…” It was more of a thought murmured aloud than a real request. “ _ Here _ !” She exclaimed suddenly after a few moments. 

“It’s a list. Housekeeping services... It’s got names on it… Edeonne and Fabrice, and a date...” She folded it up, sliding it into her coin purse. It wasn’t much, but it was something. “We need to tell Cessely about this place…” 

“Who knows when Cessely will be able to come down on this place? That’s the type of evidence we need to close in on them.” He sounded a tad worried as he gestured toward the paper she was folding away into her coin purse. They’d felt like they had been ahead in this investigation so many times, it was hard for him to get his hopes up.

She moved toward the other side of the table where a fresh sheet of parchment sat, ready to be written on. There was an envelope next to it. Nasrinne recognised the stamps on the front immediately as having used the raven network. These were from the Holy See. She bit her lip as she reached toward it hesitantly. The wax seal upon it was blue and gold. A handsome looking stamp, though it was impossible to make out the design anymore now it had been opened and cracked.    
  
“It’s a letter from Ishgard.” She said to him as she took it out carefully reading it aloud in a hushed voice.   
“Statement imparting the membership status of operative Wolfe… officially excommunicado, all means authorised.” She looked up suddenly at Pascalle with a look of horror in her eyes. “Wolfe.” She repeated the word breathlessly, “Sergeant Hemmet Wolfe.” That was his name. Her fingers tightened their grip around the paper in her hands as her nostrils flared. “This is his execution order.” There was a fire to the words as she spoke them; an anger. It flared to life suddenly at the confirmation of what she had already known to be true being laid bare to her like this.

“Poor Hemmet.” Pas shook his head, their fears now more than confirmed. His brow furrowed realising they wouldn’t have enough time to pick through everything in here. Suddenly the quiet was broken by the sound of a steel door closing shut. 


	4. Chapter 4

**_Pearl Lane; Ul’dah_ **

Pascalle’s eyes widened.    
“Did you hear that?” His voice almost a whisper as he dialled the knob on the oil lantern until the flame flickered out. He unsheathed the sword from his side slowly creeping forward.   
Slowly his head peeked around the door. It was pitch black. Had the wind just shut the door itself? A bead of sweat dripped down from his forehead as he steadied himself and stepped out into the darkness. An arrow was in her hand quicker than you could blink, and she already had it nocked before he stepped out into the darkened room. 

Pascalle’s eyes caught the glint of the dagger just in time, managing to bring his sword up just in time to swat at the blade flying toward him, knocking it off its path. It clattered loudly onto the stone floor. A thick silence swallowed the fading sound for a moment, and then, it started.A sinister and eerily familiar laugh. 

She held her breath as; there was a clatter and then the laughter.  _ Dione _ .   
But where was he?

_ What would you do, Nasrinne? _ She asked herself. _ If you wanted to improve your chances in a two against one confrontation?  _

If it were her, she’d shut her in. Difficult to do with Pascalle standing in the doorway. But if she could draw him a few steps away from the handle, and she was quick, she’d be able to slam the door shut from the hinge side and duck away out of the reach of his blade...

“To your left.” She whispered behind Pascalle as she sent her arrow in the direction she assumed Dione would be. It whistled through the darkness, the glimmer of its pale fletching barely visible.    
Pas jerked his head to the left as it flew off. It struck against something wooden with a thunk, along with a very startled grunt. Nasrinne frowned, she hadn’t hit him. Still, at least he wasn’t going to be springing any more knives on them unaware. She drew another arrow from her quiver, setting it against her bow once more, tugging back the string and taking aim for a second shot.

The piercing laugh returned through the silence. More like a cackle now. He was like an animal toying with his prey. Pascalle’s eyes narrowed toward the sound of the laughter, listening for the bare whisper of his footsteps. “I’ll draw him out, Nas.” His murmured to her as he stepped forward, one foot in front of the other lowering his blade to his side. “Are you here all by yourself, Dione?” He asked, almost tauntingly. “I don’t know what you’re laughing about. Remember, we bested you last time and there were  _ two _ of you then.” Now he laughed, raising his hands into the air and letting his sword drop to the ground with a clang. “I could beat you down barehanded.” 

“Two noble brats playing at detective.” The reply came back, along with another dagger. 

This time Pascalle had no way to deflect it, it flew true, straight into his thigh. He grunted in pain, staggering slightly. Luckily, it hadn’t pierced too far through his leather padded armour, though it had still hurt.  _ And _ it had worked, he’d successfully goaded him from the shadows.

He watched Dione step toward him, clad in black leather, a curved blade in each hand. “Maybe I’ll just leave you both in a ditch somewhere, save myself the hassle of dragging your sorry hide back to Ishgard.” He threatened him as a cackle erupted from him again. 

But Nasrinne moved as well, letting the door of the office slam close with a heavy thud. She felt a surge of anger rising in her like a tide. It was reflexive, the drawing and setting of her arrows, the readying of the string as she moved. It was something she’d been doing all of her life; like playing the harp. She didn’t have to think about it, so it gave her plenty of time to indulge that building rage.    
“I see you fancy yourself a good shot.” Nasrinne called to Dione as she leapt nimbly onto a stack of crates nearby, “Let’s see which of us has a better aim.” 

One. Two. Three. Four. Like lightning she loosed them, a shower of steel raining down toward the black-clad Elezen. He barely had time to dodge them. Nasrinne grinned to herself as she readied her fifth shot, taking aim for his right shoulder, just as she had the last time. After all, the wound there wasn’t that old yet. Probably wouldn’t treat the scar tissue kindly. She let go of her string.

The arrow hit him mid jump, it was like magic. Dione hit the ground tumbling, driving the arrowhead deeper as the shaft splintered on the stone floor. It must have hurt a hell of, but he managed to roll to his feet..

“Looks like it’s me.” She smirked.

“You  _ bitch _ .” He spat the words, full of hate in her direction as he reached for another dagger strapped to his leg. 

Despite the fresh wound, Pascalle wasn’t out for the count. Ripping the dagger from his own leg, he lunged at Dione, driving the blood-slick blade through the flesh of his leather clad hand, plunging straight through to find the flesh of his thigh. Dione crumpled, howling toward the ground as Pascalle brought his steel tipped boot down onto his face. Then it was lights out.

“What in the Fury are we going to do with  _ this? _ ” He asked Nasrinne suddenly, sounding panicked. Blood had started to run down his leg from the fresh wound, what if it had been poisoned? These were not questions for now. 

Nasrinne wasn’t panicked though. She was smiling at Pascalle, marvelling at the way the knight had taken perfect advantage of the opportunity she had presented to him. It was impressive. She hadn’t really realised it during any of their previous hostile encounters. Considering she was high as a kite during the first one, and only present for the last half of the next, perhaps she just hadn’t had the time to realise it? But they made quite a good team. That was what she was thinking to herself as Pascalle drove the toe of his boot into Dione’s face.    
“What a  _ useless _ assassin. Bested by a couple of noble brats playing detective. And a second time no less.”   
She laughed, looking up at him with a crooked smile. She shouldn’t have found the urgency in his voice so endearing, probably.    
“First we bind your wound. Then we bind him.” She said as she let the string of her bow go slack slinging it over her shoulder. Then she tore the sleeve from blouse to use as a makeshift bandage, handing it to him before stooping to gather up Dione’s daggers.    
“Thank you.” He said with a grateful smile. Truly, her cool, level head in these situations brought him a great deal of comfort. He wrapped his wound twice then pulled the strap of cloth tight around his leg, twisting it into a quick knot.   
“If we’re lucky, he won’t be awake by then. We’ll have time to put on some of those guard uniforms in that crate. We’ll march him through Fiske’s shop and then-”   
Nasrinne froze. From the other side of the steel door that marked their exit there came a muffled sound. Sort of like a dull scratching. The grate. “Someone’s trying to look inside.” She whispered. Now she was the one who’s tone sounded urgent. “Stay here.” It was more of a plea, than an order. Nasrinne didn’t like the thought of him losing any more blood and she really hadn’t had a look at how deep Dione’s dagger had pierced him, or if there were any other signs of trouble. But he was a Temple Knight of the Holy See. He’d faced worse things than a dagger from someone like Dione. She wound her way toward the door, reaching up to ease the narrow little viewing grate open and peer outside. She couldn’t see anything at all.   
Nasrinne frowned. “Nothing…” She murmured suspiciously as she closed it again. Should she open it? She didn’t know. She looked back across the darkness toward Pascalle, uncertain which was the wiser course of action, current circumstances considered. 

Pascalle had swiftly moved to stuff one of Dione’s gloves in his mouth, lest he wake and call out for help. He gave her something of a helpless shrug, his eyes searching around for something to bind the unconscious elezen with.

Nasrinne sucked on her teeth a moment, the little internal war waging inside her as she looked from Pascalle to the door and back again. Then she squared her jaw and threw the door wide, brandishing one of the throwing daggers she had swiped from Dione at the ready.

“Thal’s balls!” A slightly squeaky voice exclaimed from behind the tower of crates, Nasrinne’s head snapped toward it, her eyes narrowed calculatingly as she determined the best trajectory for the blade in her hand. “I can’t believe you actually got in there.” The voice continued as a sandy head of hair poked around the corner of a crate.

“Snads?” She exclaimed disbelievingly. “What are you doing here?” 

“Saw one o’ them knife ears youse were asking about as I was passing through. He looked pretty mean today. Saw he had some big ol’ cloak on and was creeping around.” He gestured around the door. “So’s, I thought I’d hide here after he went in and try and spy what he was up to. And if I seen youse again, I woulda told ya. But I guess ya found him?” He peered past her into the room.   
She looked around the alleyway. Even with the sun well and truly risen it was still shrouded by the shadows of the tall buildings that bordered it. She hummed thoughtfully, clapping her hand over his shoulder and pulling him inside. It was safer, for now. At least they knew what was  _ in _ here.

The boy gave a somewhat startled sound as he was thrust into the dark room. 

“The Fury sent us something else to wonder what to do with.” She said glibly to Pascalle.    
After a moment of blinking, Snads beheld the unconscious form of Dione and let out a low, awed gasp.

“Is he dead?” He whispered, equal parts fearful and gleeful at the prospect.

“Snads.” Pascalle cursed under his breath. A child didn’t need to be anywhere near this debacle. “Your curiosity is going to get you killed, lad.” Still he couldn’t help but laugh a little at the question. “I don’t think he’s dead.” Pascalle gripped the unconscious man's cheeks in one hand, turning his head from side to side. “He is out cold though.” Snads peered over though it he dare not step closer. 

“Doesn’t matter to me if he is dead.” He said unabashedly, almost pridefully with his hands on his hips. “That mean old prick had it comin’”

Pas stood up, groaning a little as the pain started to set in.    
“See the crate there, boy?” he pointed to the crate that Nasrinne had opened earlier. “Bring me one of the flames uniforms, make sure it’s big enough for me to fit into. And Nas we need something to tie up our friend here.” 

Snads looked at the crate with a quizzical look.   
“Uniforms?” he trotted toward the crate and started digging through. “What is this place ‘ere anyways? Half of these are ripped to shreds!” 

“It’s a store room.” Nasrinne replied simply, giving Pascalle a resigned sort of shrug as if to communicate her opinion it was better the boy be with the two of them than out there if any of Dione’s friends came knocking.   
But the truth was, Snads was less of a child than the two of them thought. 

“That knife ears been gettin’ around dressed in these with his mates, hasn’t he.” He said with a low caw of approval. “That’s clever that is.” He looked between them both, “This one’ll fit you.” He said handing a raggedy Flames surcoat toward her. “Make ya look like one of them conjurers. Your lot from Gridania are always conjurers or archers ay?” Nasrinne gave him a bemused little smile as she took it. 

“We’re from Ishgard...” 

“Ishgard. Gridania. Same to me.” He waved his hand dismissively, “Reckon Mister Pas needs to get himself a shield or a scimitar if he wanna look like a guard...” He said as he continued to search through the crate. “I can take youse two’s clothes and stuff in one of these chests hanging around. Back to the spot we play marbles at night, ye?” 

That was actually quite a brilliant plan. She looked over the top of the boys head, clearly impressed.

“I suppose you just want whatever else is in the crate you choose, hmm?” She called to him as she ducked out of view to change into the disheveled uniform. 

“Pretty much.” Snads replied, without even a hint of shame about him. “Here we go!” He said finally, spinning around with a blood-stained tabard clutched in his hand. “Throw this one on and then you can put this bowl on your head.” He said, pulling out a leather pot helm that was  _ more _ than a little scuffed and trotting over to Pascalle to deliver them both quite proudly.   
What harm could it do? She wondered, to let the boy have stolen goods. The longer she spent with Snads, the more she thought he might be a boy who already had stolen goods.

“Alright.” Nasrinne said as she tugged her hair out of her collar. “I’ll start tying up Dione, you see if you can’t find a shield for Pascalle.” She said to Snads, 

Nasrinne knelt down next to Dione, looking him over as she tested the bindings on his wrists. “He’s not going to be throwing any knives for quite a while.” She murmured as she looked at what was left of the arrow lodged in his shoulder. “He might not wake up for a while either.” She said as she looked around the floor to see how much blood he’d lost. It was hard to tell which was the assassins, and which was Pascalle’s. “I don’t think we’re in any danger of him dying. I do think you broke his nose with your boot though…” She couldn’t hold in her smile, “Which really is just desserts.” 

Pascalle couldn’t help himself, he chuckled a little as Snads came over. “Here’s one.” He said, dragging it over toward them. Pascalle examined it, no crest on it. To be honest these looked  _ less _ like things the guard had brought. It wasn’t damaged for one. And it had the look of Ishgardian steel.

“Likely stolen or some such…” He murmured softly, mostly to Nasrinne, but of course Snads was nodding in agreement. 

“Yeah.” The boy said, wandering toward the storage chests and experimentally hefting a few. Finally he found one he could lift easily. He set it back down, fiddling with the lock.

“Here.” Nasrinne said suddenly, standing up from where she was crouched and walking over to him, pulling out Mintori’s locksmith set as she did. “Oh this is an easy one. It’s key probably only has a couple of teeth.” She said. 

“Nas…” Pascalle called out, a touch of hesitation in his voice. The two of them looked toward him,

“What, ya think I can’t get a chest open old man?” Snads snorted.

Nasrinne didn’t say anything, the look in her eyes however seemed to say;  _ better me than someone else _ . And there was a measure of sense to that. He watched as she selected the right tools and walked him through it. Giving him sensible advice, like not to try to pick an advanced lock until you were well versed lest you ruin the lock by breaking a pin in it. And how to know if a lock was too advanced for you, or your tools.

“How do ya know all this?” Snads sucked on his teeth as the lock clicked open, looking between them from where he was crouched by her side. “Neither of youse seem much crooked.” 

“I’m not really crooked.” Nasrinne said, “I’m mostly very straight-laced, honestly. I read all about this in a book.”

“In a book? How come?”

“Well… so I’d know, just in case.” She furrowed her brow, “And just… to know. I like to know things.” She shrugged.

“I never knew books could teach you how to pick a lock…” 

“It’s not books alone, Snade.” Pascalle said, leaning on the spear and standing up. “Nasrinne’s good with a bow, and a harp and the flute… she’s spent years and years training her fingers to be gentle and firm, and change their grip fast as you can blink.”

Snads made a  _ huh _ sound, licking his lips.   
“Books and training ya fingers.” He looked at Nasrinne again. She gave him a crooked little smile as she stood, flipping the chest open.

“All yours.” 

It was a little bit of a bounty. For the most part it seemed to be stolen goods. Jewelry, clothes. Ornamental knick-knacks. Snads didn’t spend a lot of time looking at his prize. Instead, he began to swiftly pack it with their gear. Were Amandine’s clothes in this chest, or one like it? Is that where these things came from? She took a deep breath, no point dwelling on it right now. She could spend more time mourning after she’d dealt with the perpetrator. 

“Do you think you can hold him up on one side?” Nasrinne bobbed her head toward the unconscious Dione. 

“I think I can manage to hold him steady if you can bear the weight.” Pascalle replied with a nod.

“Alright, we march him to Fiske’s and then we need to get him to somewhere secure… until we can contact the Adders.”

“Perhaps we can ask Master Fiske to get in touch with Mintori for us, he could let us use his linkpearl to contact Cessely.” He suggested.

“That’s brilliant, of course. Plus, I bet our link pearl is being monitored somehow…” She muttered, sounding a tad agitated as she hoisted Dione to his feet. The man gave a faint groan, but didn’t wake up.

Pascalle frowned a little, he didn’t like to encourage her paranoia surrounding the devices, but he couldn’t help but feel like it might actually be well-founded in this instance.

“Using one of Mintori’s will help us keep this under the radar, then.” He nodded again, hooking one arm beneath Dione’s shoulder.

Snads carried his chest to the door, standing on it on tiptoes to spy out the grate. Satisfied by what he saw, he stepped back down.“I’ll wait a bit after youse go. Behind that stack of crates. Then I’ll take the stuff after a few minutes ay? Make sure no one sees me.” 

“Alright, be careful.” Nasrinne cautioned the boy, there was some reluctance in her voice. 

“If anyone asks you about us, Snads, you never met us in your life. Alright. Make sure Pawa and Radu understand that too.” Pascalle told him sternly.

“Who are you anyway?” He said opening the door for them, giving them a wink as they passed him. “Thanks for showing me how to snag a lock properly.” He whispered to Nas. Then him and his little storage chest disappeared somewhere amongst the jumble of rotting crates and barrels outside.

Fiske’s shop was not far. Dione was heavy though, and without Pascalle’s help, Nasrinne would never have been able to carry him. Even still, she could see the splotch of crimson upon his bandage growing darker with each step.    
“Don’t strain yourself.” She whispered, trying to shoulder more of the elezen sized burden they were currently sharing. She worried about how well his leg would hold up if they had to go all the way to the apartment. “Hopefully Fiske will be cooperative…” 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Fiske didn’t have to fetch Mintori for them. For he was already waiting in the shop’s backroom somewhat nervously.

“Thank the twelve, you’re both alright.” He exclaimed, sounding more than a little relieved as he saw the two of them. “This is him then.” He nodded to Dione. “The man Hemmet wanted protecting from?”

“I didn’t know you were guards…” Fiske said as he entered, then his eyes caught sight of Dione and they widened. For a moment, Nasrinne thought they were going to be thrown out. But then, Fiske began to laugh. A booming sound that stirred their prisoner again, although still not enough to rouse him fully.

“About time the guard did something about this swiving whoreson.” Fiske said. “Trouble. Trouble. Trouble. Once I caught him beating two young lads who get about here running errands.” He gave a tut as his lips turned down. “I expect you need somewhere to put him while you get reinforcements?” 

It only took another half a turn for Cessely’s contacts in Ul’dah to show up. Dione stayed plenty safe in Fiske’s meat cellar until they arrived, complete with shackles and chains to hold him safely in place on the return trip to Gridania. When he did finally wake up, the Miqo’te conjurer sent him back to sleep again with a spell. 

“That’s a handy trick.” Pascalle joked with the Miqo’te as Dione immediately fell into a slumber once more.

“It’s not the only one I have either!” He joked back, wiggling his fingers and his ears in time. 

Nasrinne smiled to herself, it was nice to see Pascalle finally relaxing a little after everything that he’d been dealing with. Everything they’d been dealing with.

A moment after the Miqo’te had finished tending to their minor wounds, a russet-skinned Roegadyn arrived. Clad in the familiar Captain’s crest as Cessely.

“Captain Hastaleyan.” The Miqo’te sounded surprised. “You weren’t in the dispatch office when we left.”

“Literally missed you by half a tick!” The Roe boomed shaking his head as he gazed around at the Conjurer and the other two Adder’s who were securing Dione. “I was just on the pearl with Captain Tanner back in Gridania. She called it in, said it needed a Captain’s touch.”

“ _ Ah! _ ” Nasrinne smiled, “The mysterious Hastaleyan. Finally, a name to a face.”

“ _ Aye _ .” Hastaleyn agreed, his grin wide and toothy. “Heard plenty about you and your Temple Knight from Cessely.” He chuckled. “Anyways, she says this bastard is the one doing in the dual citizens or whatever’s got us working with the Holy See. Sorry, I’m a bit loose on the specifics, ‘cause it’s not my case.” He spread his hands in front of him in apology, “Just in Ul’dah for some field work pertaining to a different matter. Miner’s strikes at some border quarries turning ugly. Had to speak with the guild here.”

“That’s right.” Pascalle said cooly as he looked toward the snoring Dione. Feeling as if all his hatred for Adrax was pouring out of him to pool into the man’s nephew as if he was nothing more than a shell for it. “He’s a brute and worse. Lock him Captain and throw away the key.”

“And you’ve got more proof than just ya words, I assume, if Cess is backing you on it.” He cocked his head slightly, testing them both with the gaze of his dusty-grey eyes.

She pulled the housekeeping list they’d found from her coin purse and handed it to him. Watching him read it.

“There’s mountains of it in the room we found him.” She said, canting her own head toward Dione and the guards who were lifting him.

Hastaleyan gave a rich laugh,

“Well, best youse two go be getting some of it. You know where the Adder’s embassy is?”

“We’ll find it.” She said quickly, glancing at Pascalle. Mintori would know, and they could ask him after they picked the best bits of that room clean.

“Meet me there when ya done. I’ll get a wagon ready. Organise with Cess to meet us at one of the outposts near the border with Ishgard. Maybe she can bring the other one ya got.” He chuckled again, “We can bring your brother down easier then, ay?”

“Perfect.” Pascalle gave an approving nod, “We’ll be as swift as the Fury allows.”

“Pray she doesn’t keep ye!” The Captain called to them, striding toward the rest of his squadron to take charge of the transport situation.

They had to pick the lock again, which bothered her slightly because it was a simple tumble barrel. Those usually didn’t lock themselves. But she didn’t know a  _ great _ deal about picking locks in practice.

“Usually I’d say ladies first, but…” Pascalle joked quietly as he pushed the thick steel door inward.

“Where shall we start?” She asked him, unhooking one of the lanterns on the walls. (There was no need to be skulking about in the dark this time.) She twisted the dial and the dim glow of the aether powered light flickered as the door swung slowly shut behind them with a dull clang.

“Back in that study thing, I suppose…” He replied, gesturing in the direction of the door on the far wall.

“Seems a good a place as any.” She said, handing him the lantern.

Their footsteps rang out in the quiet as they strode across the stone floor, the pool of light from the lantern vanishing around the corners of crates and barrels. Their long shadows stretching out beside them like clinging phantoms.

_ We can bring your brother down easier then _ …

“That was a funny way to phrase that.” She murmured thoughtfully, a frown creasing her brow.

“What?”

“We can bring your brother down easier… Not, your brother can get here faster, or get there easier... Just a bit odd.” She said with a shrug.

“Roegadyn often have odd ways of speaking though.” Pascalle replied as his hand wrapped around the door handle, twisting it open.

It was quieter than a whisper, the sound. Nasrinne wasn’t even sure if she heard it at all really, or just felt it. Felt the rush of air at the back of her neck, the fine, needle point of the dart as it pierced the side of her neck.

“ _ Pasc- _ ” Her lips started to form his name as a creeping darkness began eating away at her peripheral vision. She reached her hand out toward his shoulder,  _ right there _ , just a half-step in front of her.

Then the room went black.

\---


	5. Chapter 5

**_The Open Purse, upstairs; Ishgard_ **

Her ears were ringing. A shrill buzz as if an angry bee was trying to bore through her skull. Her consciousness seemed to return to her in bursts alongside the incessant sound. But her body felt heavy. Even her eyelids felt as if they were made of lead. She was in a bed though, with a cheap hay mattress upon it. She drew a deep breath through her nose. There was a thick, sweet cloying stench in the air, like honey mixed with sweat. She gagged slightly as it filled her mouth. It was enough to help her eyes peel open, revealing the old, knotted wooden beams that criss-crossed the ceiling above her. She couldn’t recognise them from anywhere she knew. They were blurry, out of focus.

But Nasrinne could tell by the draft she felt blowing against the soft cotton of her tunic,  _ she was in Ishgard _ .

She drew another breath, shakier this time. Both from the growing awareness of the cold, and from fear.  _ How did she get here from Ul’dah? They had bested Dione… where was Pascalle? _ The questions rolled into one another as she tried her best to push through the heavy fog that permeated her mind.

“Pascalle?” She called out weakly, only to be greeted again by the unpleasant droning sound. But this time, as it began to clear, she thought could make out people talking?

_ ‘…Hastaleyan what are you at the bloody window again for? _ ’ She knew that voice. It was faint, and reedy, but it was undoubtedly Cessely. And Hasteleyan… that was the Captain. Cessely’s partner.

‘ _ Leave it Cess. Bloody useless he is, how’d he even make Captain? _ ’

“Jhuls _? _ ” Her mind sang out in alarm at the sound of her brother’s voice. She propped herself up with a groan, searching the room groggily, trying to find the source of the sound.

“Why yes, it is that feathercap swive.” This voice was closer than the others. Much closer. It sent a chill through her. It belonged to a man seated at a roughly shod table next to a small window.

Nasrinne had never heard this voice, and she had never seen  _ this _ man. Yet she knew who he was. She could tell from his wheat coloured hair with its streaks of sickly salmon, and the cruel sneer of his lips. This was Mad-Dog Memort.

“Adrax…” She whispered. Watching as his eyes lit up in wicked glee at the tremor in her voice.

“So, he’s told you about me, has he?” He chuckled. “Well, that’s alright. I’ve become plenty well acquainted with you too. And your carpetbagger brother.”

“What have you done with Pascalle?” She demanded, struggling against the sluggishness in her limbs. “Where’s Jhuls and Cessely?”

“Hasta’s been waiting so patient like for you to come around.” He told her, “But, now you’re awake…” He gestured a moment to the device sitting next to him. Nasrinne didn’t really recognise what it was, if she had to take a guess it was magitek. Some sort of Garlean contraption maybe? Adrax twisted a little dial. The piercing fuzz filled the room, growing clearer and fuller, until the sound of a woman laughing, low and menacing echoed around the room.

‘ _ Stop laughing you gormless fucking bitch. _ ’ Cessely’s disembodied voice yelled from out of the machine’s speakers,

_ ‘Captain Hastaleyan _ ?’ She recognised this voice too. The same pitch of shock. The same surprised way the Miqo’te conjurer had greeted him.

‘ _ Hasta? What are ya do-‘ _

_ ‘Cess, look out!’ _

_ We can bring your brother down easier then, ay?  _ The Roegadyn’s words repeated in her mind, beneath the waves of dread and panic.

“Jhulayne!” Nasrinne screamed out suddenly as the sound of glass shattered so loudly in her ears, she covered her own head from the shock. Somewhere beneath she heard a strangled scream.

‘ _ Captain Cessely the outpost is surrounded!’  _ ‘T _ he woods are full of them!’  _ Came the terrified pleas for direction from voices she couldn’t recognise. Followed by sounds she had heard, too many times before. The cries of men screaming as something pierced their flesh. The useless clatter and clang of spear and sword, drawn and swung unprepared.

She knew she was screaming while she listened to it. Pitiful, hopeless screams. But she couldn’t hear herself over the other sounds.

_ The sounds of men dying _ .

Too many times she’d heard those sounds from far away. Because that’s what happens when you’re a girl, they bundled you off first. Quickly. While the sky is falling, and the trees are burning. And because that’s what happens when you’re an archer. Posted by the cover of the treeline. Never close enough to the chaos as the dragon’s fire or the heretic’s blades swept through a battalion of knights and dragoons.

Then a ragged stillness settled around the room. It wasn’t silence, for there was faint breathing to be heard. Faint, and laboured. Each gasp belonging to a different owner. One of them hers.

“Pretty tune, wasn’t it?” Adrax said to her finally, swivelling the little dial on his magitek machine once more.

She launched herself toward him. Anger-fuelled adrenaline carrying her bare feet across the wooden floorboards. But her gait was sloppy, and his palm met her fist, clamping over it while his other hand wrapped around her neck, squeezing it tight enough to force a yelping wheeze.

“You know, I heard you’re a bit of a botanist. Like fooling around with plants, don’t ya?”

She flailed against him, trying to yank her fist free or pry his fingers from her throat. The only thing she succeeded at doing was making herself lightheaded faster, thanks to her energetic struggling.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret here about what we put in cups and blades when we want a tune to turn out prettiest.” Adrax crooned as he smirked in her face. “We use the old coerthan bitter blue.” His lips peeled back into a wide grin while he elaborated, “ _ Painful _ way to go. Though it doesn’t take too long. So, it was a mercy really. Hasta coating his blade in it right as I was prepping those ‘donna darts for your little nap.”

Nasrinne spat at him. Straight in his eye.

Adrax’s laughter was low and spiteful.

“Feisty little bitch.” He said before he tightened his grip on her neck, leaning close to her as he bent her wrist back painfully, almost enough to snap it. A strangled whimper escaped her lips, and he laughed again. “I’ll do you a little solid,” His breath along her ear made her skin crawl, “I’ll leave you a special present on the table for when you wake up. You can decide for yourself how long you want to live with that tune, before we get around to doin’ you in.”

He let go of her hand and before she’d barely even tried to use the opportunity to take a swing, his fist met her face with a heavy crunch. Then he let her neck go, dropping her unceremoniously to the floor. She watched him, half-vacant, as he picked up the machine, eyes following his feet as they walked toward the single door in the room. A sliver of the hall outside was visible to her as he left. An old, faded red hall runner ran along its floor, and she could see faint patches of light seeping out from doors set into the wall on the other side. Adrax’s key’s rattled in the lock as he shut it. Then his footsteps faded out of ear shot.

It was not the first time in her life she had felt this crushing emptiness. She could still remember falling against the hard, stone walls at Camp Dragonhead when they had told her that Jhulayne was lost. Remember it like it was yesterday. Remember the way it seemed as if everything had been drained out of her into the frozen ground. And she was little more than a shadow. A ghost. Pulled any which way by the bitter wind.

For a long time, Nasrinne lay there. Blood pooled out of her nose and from her lip. But she didn’t care. She was trying very hard to come up with a prayer for the Fury. A plea. A bargain.

_ Halone, help me _ . Nasrinne cried in her mind.

_ Halone _ .  _ Help me _ . Begged. Again, and again, and again.

Until she lost count. Until she realised Halone would not help her. No one would. Just like no one had helped Jhulayne. Beautiful, dependable, good Jhulayne. Jhulayne who had always done what was right. Jhulayne, her dear, dear Jhulayne. What wicked God would give him back to her just to take him from her a second time?

Fury’s mercy. Fury’s justice. Where were they?

_ Nowhere _ . She thought to herself, coldly.

And with that single, icy word Nasrinne moved her own glacier of grief aside. Standing slowly, shakily. Wiping her face with the back of her arm, smearing her skin with grisly scarlet.

A single unwholesome thought consumed her mind. She was going to get out of this room. She was going to get out of this room and kill Adrax Memort.

Her options were limited. The single window was barred. A thick grate of iron closing the friendly wooden shutters off from prying hands. And the door was locked. Her eyes drifted to the box Adrax had left for her on the table. Her ‘present.’ She flicked open the small wooden lid, revealing a small vial of ivory powder and a fine, horn smoking pipe inside. There was a little set of matches to light it with.

A shrewd little hum left her lips. The honeyed smell in the room began to make sense.

“Somnus…” she murmured with an air of distaste. Then she pulled out the contents and set it on the table. Turning her attention to the box. Working the lid back and forth slowly until the pins began to bulge free of the hinges.

She worried absently at her lip turning then to the chair there. Giving the top spindle an experimental tug. A second yank pulled it free. This was going to be crude, she thought to herself, but it was going to have to do.

she opened the vial and scattered the somnus haphazardly behind her with a little toss. Keeping the cork and the glass. Then with careful precision she began to pull apart the smoking pipe, using the hunk of wood to break apart the horn into shards.

A short while later she had assembled herself a roughshod set of tools. The hinge-pins were bent and set into the ends of some splinters of wood, the bits of the pipe had been roughly worked into passable wedges, along with the box-lid. And the glass vial, cork and chair rungs had been assembled into a makeshift shiv and hammer.

Nasrinne turned to her first obstacle. The door, a look of cool determination on her bruising face.

She was going to get out of this room. Then she was going to kill Adrax Memort.

\---

**_The Open Purse, downstairs_ **

Dark, empty, cold, the room stood silently at the end of the corridor. Not that the Elezen bound by rope inside the tiny room could have known. Pascalle’s eyes slowly opened to be greeted by nothing but darkness and pain. His head was banging and there were no traces of light to be found, no moonlight shining through a barred window. What was there though, was the stale smell of mould and ash filling his nostrils. It seemed wherever he was he had been thrown there onto the cold stone floor like a carcass after a hunt.

He grimaced, attempting to roll himself into a sitting position... which was incredibly difficult while his wrists and ankles were bound. He only now realised how  _ cold  _ he was. Somehow, and with a lot of grunting and groaning his back managed to find a wall giving him enough leverage to get himself seated and try gather his bearings. 

His head was spinning with questions.  _ Where I am? How long have I been here?  _ Pas last remembered heading back to the brotherhood cache to gather more information, when... 

**_Nasrinne_ ** . He let out a sharp gasp for air, suddenly feeling more constrained at this realization than he had only a moment ago.

His adrenaline surged as his predicament became more tangible. He writhed and struggled against his restraints, screaming out for help. His yells growing more panicked the longer he fought.    
“Nasrinne!” his voice breaking as the hopeless calls to her echoed off the walls around him. Some type of tiny stonework room, maybe for storing firewood?

_ Bang, bang.  _

His desperate struggle was interrupted by the sound of metal against metal, then the familiar sound of a deadbolt unlatching. The steel pin sliding out slowly with a click. At first Pascalle couldn’t see anything but the light shining through the doorway, as the heavy steel door slowly screeched open. He backed away, retreating to the corner but still too blind to see anything more than a shadowy silhouette standing there.

He squinted trying to focus on the shape of the man. Everything was blurry, but it looked as though they were fiddling with something in their hands. 

Suddenly an even droning sound filled the room, not unlike rain. Then a sort of crackle, or popping sound a fire would make.    
  
“What have you done with her! Where is Nasrinne?!” He shouted his demand, (not that he was in the place to be making any.)    
  
“ _ Ah _ , So that’s what all this crying has been about. You miss your girl, huh?” Came a taunting jibe from a familiar voice.

A voice that told him exactly where he was. Exactly who he was dealing with. 

Adrax Memort. Artreux’s ‘Mad Dog’. 

Pascalle thought he had put any chance of finding himself in a situation like this again behind him. 

Memories came flooding back to him unbidden, the extent of the cruelty and all of the terrible truths he had buried. The acts of this man. This vile creature, who had destroyed any semblance of normalcy he may have found during his childhood. 

Adrax had always taken great joy in Pascalle’s pain, always pushing his father to punish him for the most minor transgressions or complete fabrications. The worst part was his father always took the Mad Dog’s word over his own.

_ Leopold _ .    
He thought to himself. That was the last time he’d truly been at the mercy of Adrax. It had become a lot harder for the Mad Dog’s favourite brand of discipline to carry weight after he’d become a squire.

But he had only been twelve years old when Leopold happened. 

It had been just after his birthday. His mother had gifted him a snow fox.  _ Leopold _ was the name he chose. And Pascalle  _ adored _ that fox. Indeed, the young Pascalle had grown unbelievably attached to the tiny animal. Showering it with love and affection, even sleeping right next to him on his pillow when he could get away with it. For six months, Leopold had hardly left his side.    
Of course Adrax had seen him with the pup, and how happy it had made him. And well, they couldn’t have that, could they?   
So he had convinced Artreux that caring for the animal was making him weak, and a decision was made between them. And with Artreux’s blessing, Adrax had dragged Pascalle and Leopold out into the back garden. Behind the high, stone walls of Dubois Manor. And told him to beat the fox to death.

The longer Pascalle refused, the harder Adrax would beat him. No amount of begging, or pleading. No amount of tears helped. If anything, it just made things worse. Until his clothes were torn, and his was lying in the cold snow, looking at the cage where his friend was watching. Until finally, he relented. 

The entire time Artreux watched from the second storey window.

Just one of the immeasurably cruel things Adrax had done. There were countless other lives he’d ruined.

His unwelcoming reminiscing was cut short as Adrax’s recording started to play back (not that the young Dubois knew it was a recording).    
_ Jhulayne _ ! Nasrinne's screaming voice could be heard, then sobbing as the recording rolled on. 

_ “Jhulayne _ ?” Pascalle repeated her in a whisper, a new surge of dread washing over him.  _ Sergeant Hastaleyan. _

“You hear that, boy?” Pascalle could see his face now. That cruel grin taking so much pleasure in his misery.

“What have you done with Nasrinne and Jhulayne?!” He screamed through tearing eyes, hand ripping back and forth trying to break free from his ropes. Only managing to rip at the skin around his wrists.

The recording stopped then. No more voices. The Mad Dog’s sinister laugh erupted loudly, mingling with echoes of fighting and Nasrinne’s sobbing still ringing in his ears. 

“It’s a shame really.” he stood back to his full height, looming over the prone Elezen. “She could have made me quite the pretty penny If Artreux had let me put her to work. But a slit throat is good an end as any, eh?” His mouth contorted into a sinister smile, baring his teeth menacingly. His deep-set and sunken eyes pierced Pascalle’s own.

Pas looked to the door left wide open behind Adrax with desperation. If only he could break free from these restraints, make a dash for the door. But then what? Nasrinne and Jhulayne were both dead according to what he heard through that device. And to just be dragged back into his father’s house again and again? He felt naught but helpless in that moment. But only for a moment, as the rage boiled up inside of him. There was nothing left for him so why should Adrax have anything? Why should Artruex?

He welled up what little strength he had inside him, his whole body shaking and tense.    
“I’ll kill you, you hear me you cunt!” In a flash his feet kicked out at the gloating fiend, right into the back of his legs. Adrax may have seen it coming but he was too slow to react, taking a hefty sweep he teetered back, grabbing at the smooth stone walls but finding nothing to grip to. As he fell back the device fell with him and shattered as it crashed to the floor along with Adrax himself. Pas knew this was his only chance, with all his remaining strength he brought his bound fists to the air and then back down again, clubbing into the other Elezen who after only a hit or two was capably defending himself from the enfeebled offensive from Pascalle.

A fist quickly found a cheek and Pas was back, prone on the floor as Adrax found his way back to his feet.    
“Oh? She had been teaching ya to be a bit feisty, had she?” He laughed out as he wiped away the ash from his shirt, looking to the pieces of smashed tech on the ground. “Fuck. Ya know how hard this was to get?” Another boot to Pascalle’s chest, he let out a pained groan. Adrax started to pick up the pieces, grumbling as he did so.

What was there to do? In all his thrashing the binding on his arms had come loose, enough to pull his wrist through if he really tried. And try he did, it may have dislocated his thumb as he did so, but his hand wrenched through the ropes and with free hands he leapt onto Adrax.

Not expecting the surprise flank, all of Pascalle’s momentum carried through, sending Adrax face first into the wall with a crunch. As he pulled his face from the stone pieces of gravel stuck to the gashes on the Elezens face which was contorted in pain. A pained scream echoed out, Adrax quickly turned his fury back onto the weakened prisoner. He could do little to defend himself as the enraged assassin started wailing into him, blood from his face splattering all over Pas while he did what he could to protect himself from the onslaught of blows. 

The mad dog had bared his teeth and shown his true nature. No longer putting up the façade he’d lost any semblance of calm as soon as Pas had fought back. And no disobedience could go unpunished. Both he and Atreux had that in common.

\---

**_The Open Purse, upstairs_ **

Somewhere in the distance, Nasrinne heard a bell tolling. She fiddled with one of the lockpicks she had made as she counted.  _ Eight _ . She crept to the door as quietly as she could and peered through the lock. The hall looked empty through the tiny gap. She squared her shoulders, pressing her ear to the old, worn wood.  _ Silence _ .

If those bells meant eight in the morning, and this was a pillow house, then no doubt the work would be winding down.

“No time like the present.” She whispered, steeling herself against the fear of the unknown. She had a plan. She just had to concentrate, one step at a time. Keep all the other thoughts from her head. Push the unwelcome memories to the back. She drew a short, sharp breath through her nose, blinking away the stinging in her eyes.

There were a few muttered curses as she jiggled and finagled with her very rudimentary tools, but fortunately for her this place was old. She could tell that from the half rotten furniture in the room she was in. There was a distinct possibility this lock had been snagged before, or the whole doorknob had been beaten off. Eventually she managed to shove the lever aside and prise the bolt open, watching the handle turn with trepidation.

There were no cries of alarm as she cracked the door. She set one of the little wedges of horn she had made carefully inside the lip of the lock, testing to see if it kept the bolt from sliding in.  _ It did _ !

“Don’t go celebrating yet, Nasrinne.” She cautioned herself quietly as she gathered up the rest of her little kit.

She eased the door closed softly behind her. There was only one window. The light from the early morning sun casting the hallway in a pallid glow. The lights she had seen from her puddle on the floor earlier all seemed to be out now. There were three other doors on this floor, and a stairwell leading down. All the doors were painted a faded maroon colour save for the one at the end of the hall, to her left. That one was still just an ordinary brown on the outside. A small hum escaped her lips as she looked right, toward the stairwell, and then back again at the ordinary brown door.

Her mind ticked over every little scrap of information she had garnered so far. Hastelyan had set up the meeting exactly as he had said he would. Close enough to Ishgard for Jhulayne to arrive quickly. If Hastaleyan had been trying to stall Cessely and Jhulayne until she woke up, that meant the meeting hadn’t happened that long ago. It was likely only a day had passed, maybe less than that. Adrax was cruel, a cruelty that bordered on psychotic. But he wasn’t particularly  _ clever _ . He’d banked on a locked door keeping her at bay, even though the one in Ul’dah hadn’t kept her out. Which meant it was probably just as likely, with little time to secure everything, he would have just tossed her gear into a storeroom. A storeroom with an ordinary brown door.

After a moment’s deliberation, she decided to trust her gut and open it. Her eyes scanned the storeroom. Sure enough, she spied her bow resting against one of the racks.

“You’re a man who’s very easy to read, Adrax.” She scoffed beneath her breath, striding toward it. Not that a bow would do her much good in a room as small as this. But  _ everything _ was here. Not just her kit, but Pascalle’s too.

“He must be in here somewhere…” She murmured, glancing back over her shoulder toward the empty corridor and the stairs leading down.

She pulled her boots back on hastily, strapping her bow and quiver to her back. She picked up Mintori’s lockpicking kit and her botany knife, fastening them to her belt again. Then she shrugged her cloak over her shoulders, grabbed Pascalle’s sword, leaving the rest. Either they’d have time to come back for it, or they wouldn’t, she reasoned as she crept her way to the stairs, footsteps feather soft as she made her way down, one at a time.

She rounded the corner of the stairs onto the next floor. There were no windows to let in any light, and all the lamps had been shut out; which just confirmed her suspicions about the nature of the business that went on there. She counted six doors, and another staircase on the opposite side. She looked down her own stairwell, leaning over the railing slightly to try and get a feel for how many floors the place had. How big the building was. There was at least another floor before the ground level by the looks of it. And six rooms to search on this floor alone?    
Nasrinne froze, fear creeping slowly through her bones. Fuelling the panic and suffering competing for her mind’s attention. How would she find Pascalle in a place this big? How could she even start? She’d never have enough time to check every room before Adrax came to find her missing.

_ I don’t know what to do. _ She thought, helplessly, standing like a statue on the landing.  _ This is hopeless. I’m not some seasoned knight, I’m not an adventurer. I’m just a noble’s daughter who likes to read books. I can’t find Pascalle in this maze of a brothel. I’m not some sort of savant...  _

_ Nas, nothing ever slips your mind _ ... She could hear his voice in her mind so clearly.  _   
_ “Oh, Jhuls…” she choked out his name, squeezing her eyes shut as she thought of him. Of what he’d tell her to do. 

_There’s no way to spot a rabbit from all the way back here, Jhulayne._ She was twelve, and the dusky horizon of the warm summer evening seemed to stretch out for miles. _Take a breath, little bird, and forget about how wide the horizon._ The memory whispered to her. _See which way the grass is blowing? Now look down the window of your bow. See just that little patch of grass_. _That’s where you start._ _Keep watching it until you see it move against the wind._

She wasn’t hunting rabbits in the long, golden summer grasses. She was hunting a mad-dog in a pillowhouse. But the lesson still applied. She needed to focus on moving through this place the same way she focused on what she could see down the window of her bow. Just one little patch of grass at a time.   
  
There was no use poking her head into every room in a whore house. Adrax  _ knew _ Pascalle. That meant he knew his strength, and he knew his weaknesses. You wouldn’t lock a seasoned Temple Knight behind a wooden door. You’d put him somewhere much more secure. In fact, he would have done the same with her, if he was smart enough. But like most twats from Ishgard, he was prone to underestimate the fair sex.

“That’s what’s going to be your undoing. Adrax.” She whispered venomously.

_ Listen to me, Nasrinne. Be careful. _ Her brother’s voice cautioned from the past.

“I will be, Jhuls.” She took a deep breath, opening her eyes. “I promise, this time I will be.” Then she committed to the path she was on. Wrong or right, it didn’t matter anymore. She’d follow these stairs down as far as they would go. Judging by the proffered somnus there’d be a common area to purchase drugs and probably liquor. There was nothing like that in the store room upstairs, so, logic would dictate the place would need to have a cellar or something similar. This was her reasoning as she wound her way down to the bottom floor, peering out into the deserted common room. She could see the kitchen through the serving windows behind the bar. The coals from the stoves were still burning behind their iron grates. 

She carried herself on tiptoes toward the ruddy red glow cast across the flagstones. Ducking beneath the bar’s gate, holding Pascalle’s sword at the ready as she rolled silently to her feet. That was one good thing about being an archer. You didn’t catch many rabbits, or heretics, if you went stomping through the undergrowth. 

She slipped through the kitchen gate too, peering back behind her through the open partition. There were light’s still on in a room on the second floor. She almost second guessed herself then, when a heavy crash pulled her attention back to where she was standing. Her eyes peeled across the floor toward the pile of crates and the trap door jutting ever so slightly open. The red shadows from the dying fires disappearing into the dark mouth of the cellar. 

A guttural yell of pain filtered up through the small gap. Followed by another dull thud.

_ Pascalle _ ? She didn’t wait to wonder, she dove down the passage, the soles of her boots slapping against the small set of hewn stone steps. 

\---


	6. Chapter 6

**_The Open Purse, downstairs_ **

The cellar was dark and empty, but the murmur of angered voices was clear to her ears. She hugged the barrels and crates stacked against the walls, looping around like a coeurl in a cage. Ear pressed close to the wall until she finally pinpointed the direction they were coming from. The doorway was almost flush with the stonework. She probably wouldn’t even know it was a door, if she didn’t have the frenzied grunts or the wounded screams to guide her. 

Nasrinne let out a frenzied scream of her own as she launched herself against the false wall, throwing all her weight and rage against it. She tumbled through along with the hollow bricks, landing with a clatter upon the floor, her eyes level with the heels of Adrax’s boots,   
“ _Huh_?” Adrax grunted in confusion, turning to look down at her. 

But she wasn’t looking at him.

“Pascalle!” Her lips cried out his name as her eyes fell upon him in a mixture of relief and adulation. And then, wholly on impulse she tossed his sword, sending it skittering past Adrax’s feet toward him.

Again, and again he was struck with such ferocity, such untempered rage and there was naught he could do but take every and every blow. Each strike hurt less and less; his body was becoming numb as his mind detached from reality. Like he was a child again, countless times had he been at the heel of Adrax’s boot. _Is this all I’m destined for? To stand up and get knocked down. Every. Single. Time._

Then something unexpected happened, something that for a moment his mind could not make amends with. Pascalle moved his arms away, no longer shielding himself; he was nearly face to face with Nasrinne, dust and stone settling about them both. Both he and Adrax looked as though they had seen a ghost until she called his name. Her voice lifted his heart, though his mouth was wide agape and a lump rising in his throat. _Nasrinne._ He tried to speak her name, but no words came out.

Though what _was_ expected was Nasrinne’s throw being as good as her aim, the sword spun to a stop right in front of him. As confused as he was that she’d appeared almost out of thin air, knowing she was alive brought him renewed strength. 

But It hadn’t taken long for Adrax to reignite and turn his boot toward Nasrinne,   
“You fuckin’ mouthy cunt! I’m gonna rip the skin from your bones.” sending it down in a flurry of stomps. His focus was gone as he reverted to a savage fury, pulling a knife free that was hidden at his side.

Nasrinne had no time to try and stall the first kick. It was a swift and spiteful kick to the side of her gut, right where Izuna had stabbed her. She let out a yelp, which of course drew a gleeful peal of laughter from his lips.   
“That’s the sound a bitch is ‘sposed to make.” He spat at her as he brought his foot down again. But this time, Nasrinne was ready, gritting her teeth and ignoring the dull throb of pain from her old wound. The rubble strewn about the floor grazed the bare flesh of her arms as she rolled away from Adrax, his boot swinging wantonly where she had just lay, hitting the floor with a fat slap.   
As he drew his blade, so did she. Snatching it out of the sheath at her thigh, twisting further out of reach. There was a dangerous swiftness to the way she rose — spinning like lightning, small hunting knife at the ready, her indigo eyes like two pools of dark pitch as they locked onto Memort.   
  
“It’s not me who takes my moniker from a dog though.” Came her icy and predictably sardonic retort, almost as much a reflex as her movements. Up until now, she hadn’treally known if Pascalle had even got the sword, but she caught sight of his movement in her peripheries. A glimmer of something almost like hope surged through her, although it was far too delicate to really be called that.   
Then Adrax lunged toward her, knifepoint aimed toward her throat. There was a healthy dose of fear lurking amidst the depths of all Nasrinne’s fury and despair and inner turmoil. It was more than enough of a motivator to _move_. She sidestepped his strike, taking a swing at the hand holding the dagger that would have pierced her neck. The tip of her little knife slicing across the knuckles. Not deeply enough to disarm him, although it was more than enough to infuriate him further. Her breath hitched in her throat as she saw the unbridled malice on his face.

Pas didn’t waste any time. He flicked the blade over with his feet, the sharpened edge making short work of rope that bound his wrists. 

The knights’ knuckles were white as he gripped the leather-bound hilt and with another quick flick of the razor-sharp edge his feet were free too.

Though battered and bruised and in a small room he could still wield a sword to some effect. He thrust forward the point finding its way into the spongy flesh of the back of the Mad Dog’s thigh. There was a soft, wet sound. Like when you slice open a fish. And Adrax toppled backward with a shriek, his head cracking into the flagstone’s of the cellar behind the secret door.

Nasrinne gasped, gaze swivelling to find Pascalle standing, sword in hand. Somehow the very picture of a hero to her, even battered and smeared in blood. 

“Pascalle!” His name burst from her lips and she had thrown herself against him before she realized, arms wrapping around him as her face pressed itself into his chest with a ragged sob of relief. Heedless of anything then save for this single victory. This tiny island in a sea of anguish. He was there with her. She wasn’t here in this misery and terror alone anymore.

Pascalle let her voice soak in, feeling her heartbeat against his chest. In that moment nothing else really mattered. For a moment he was happily absorbed by a feeling of love that played in his subtle smile and soft gaze, despite the blood and bruises that now adorned his face.

He cupped her chin tenderly, drawing her gaze to his own.  
“Nasrinne. I thought I’d lost you.” the way her eyes met his, he couldn’t turn away. “It’s as if I awoke from a nightmare. And now that you're here, I need to stay awake and see what new colours dawn will bring.” In a moment he pressed his lips against hers, he felt his body loosen as his hands ran over her shoulders. When they broke away after what seemed like an age, he looked at her. “You are the half that makes me whole.”

She gasped at his tender words. That decidedly girlish sound ( _oh_ ,) that seemed to always leave her lips in his presence, and then… Well, Nasrinne had never been kissed before. She was startled, at first, like any good Ishgardian girl would have been. But Pascalle’s lips were warm, and soft, and every bit as wonderful as she’d always imagined them to be. She could have almost forgotten all of it, everything that had happened in the last turn of the sun. _You are the half that makes me whole._ He said.  
“Oh, Pascalle,” she sighed his name, “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to tell you, I’m in love with you? Practically since the first moment we met…” She chuckled. And in that stupidly imperfect, perfect moment she could almost have forgotten it all. 

But hers was not the only laughter to echo in their ears. 

Another gleeful peal of laughter echoed about them.   
“That was beautiful” Adrax mocked them from the shadows, he had found his moment while they were distracted. “Now if we’re done playing happy families.” There was a glint of light before a dagger shot out from behind the door. It was all Pascalle could do to move Nasrinne out if it’s path, the blade digging into his right arm sending his sword straight to the floor and the weary Elezen stumbling backward.

She barely had time to think. Pascalle spun her out of the way, and she watched in horror, just out of arm’s reach, as Adrax’s blade struck him.

“Pas!” She screamed over the clatter of his sword , her whole body growing tense as she watched him stagger back.

“ _Now_ .” Adrax hissed through his bloody teeth. “This time instead of listening, you can _watch_ . Give you another pretty girl’s grave to pine over, eh? _Poor Pascalle_.” Adrax taunted, as he turned to look at her finally. Brandishing his dagger, smiling his wicked smile. 

All the happiness she had felt evaporated at those words. _Instead of listening_. 

She could do something instead of listening. She lifted her hunting knife slowly, feeling the weight of it in her hand. Wondering silently to herself, _can you really?_

Pascalle gripped at the dagger where it had buried deep into his flesh. Whilst he feebly tried to pull the blade, his pale hands trembling with fear and sorrow. Inch by inch it slid out, blood oozing out in its wake rapidly as he did so.

Adrax was even now mocking them both. “You maggot.” Barely a sound came from his lips as Pascalle gritted his teeth. He reached his hand out helplessly as the Mad Dog sauntered away from him, back toward Nasrinne.

“Maybe I’ll string her and her dead brother up as decorations aroun-”

“ _Memort._ ” She said his name softly, cutting him off mid sentence. Watching the violent indignation spread across his face, watching the opening of his guard as he pulled his arm back to swing.   
And just like that, she felt the weight leave her hand.   
Watching as her little hunting knife soared through the air; hilt tumbling over blade in a single perfect circle before it’s needle tip met with Adrax’s wide, left eye. It was like a flash in her mind. She saw the steel line up with his iris like a bull’s eye and she moved, dashing forward, driving the flat of her palm into the flat of the pommel. The strangled scream died abruptly on the mad-dog’s lips, legs folding under as he crumpled into a heap. Nasrinne just stood there, staring at the dull white pommel of her hunting knife, her hand still hovering in the empty space where a man’s face had just been. 

If only he had known. Known before all of this, how capable she truly was. Adrax ‘Mad Dog’ Memort. A name that sent shivers down the spine of the most cutthroat criminals Ishgard had to offer. And she buried a knife right into his eye. He watched in awe as she ruthlessly pummelled the blade again sending a red mist from the now deformed and deceased Elezen’s face. 

Nasrinne had never killed a man. It had been something of a mark of pride for her after five years of service as an archer and ranger of the Holy See. Certainly she had captured many men, many of whom may have gone on to die. And she had wounded many men, many of them badly. But she had never aimed a shot to kill something she didn’t mean to eat. And she had always thought it would have been harder to look someone in the eye when you...

“I didn’t-” She started to say it. What she was supposed to say now. But she stopped herself, her hand falling back to her side, after all what she had been about to say wasn’t true.   
“They killed my brother.” She said instead, still staring at the knife... Her knife, sticking out of Adrax Memort’s face. “They killed my brother and _he_ made me listen.”

Through pain and gritted teeth, he found his feet and Nasrinne’s side.   
“I know. Thank you.” Pas breathed a heavy sigh of relief as he looked to Nas in her worried state. “He _deserved_ to die, Nasrinne.” Even now, looking down at his tormentor’s corpse Pascalle was fuming, he leaned an arm onto his companion for support.   
  
Nasrinne’s eyes didn’t leave Adrax’s face as she stopped finally to pull out the dagger.   
_Thank you_ . Pascalle said to her. _He deserved to die_.

“I just wanted him to shut up.” She said softly, wiping the viscera off on the side of her pants before she holstered it again at her thigh.  
  
Pascalle watched her slide the knife neatly back into the sheathe strapped to her leg. He couldn’t help but admire the graceful way in which she moved. As always, she had taken in every detail of the place while searching for him. Calm under pressure would be an understatement. There were hardened veterans that would struggle to keep up with the likes of her. “Everybody wanted to shut him up, Nasrinne. I’m just sorry it wasn’t me… Come on. He can’t be the only one here, we must make ourselves scarce.” 

“There were lights on in one of the rooms on the first floor. But the other two floors were dark.” She replied. Looking up at him finally, without a flicker of remorse for the corpse on the floor to be found in her dark, dark eyes.  
Would he still mean all the pretty things he had said to her before? She wondered for a moment. But the expression on his face banished it. A perfect mirror for her to look into, really. For there could be no mistaking that the look in Pascalle’s eyes was twin to the rage beating in her tiny chest.   
  
He stepped to the entryway that had been created where Nasrinne had smashed through the wall, whispering back into the room, “I expected he’d had us brought to his pillow house, though I’m sure you were acutely aware of that when you snuck down here.” He flashed her a cheeky smile (well as best he could through the swelling.) Pas moved slowly out into the narrow corridor. To their right was a long, dark tunnel. He went left, peering up the stairs, sword in hand. Flickers of light reflected down toward him. At that moment he paused. There was no way to run from this. They had been brought to Ishgard and held in the ravenous jaws of the Mad Dog. Jhulayne was dead as far as they knew. It was as if his mind came to an impasse. Every thought stung, only fuelling the fire that burned inside of him. Artreux would never let this go.

He turned to face Nas, hunched form exuding a bitterness that was like acid. Burning and potent. Slowly he looked up the stairs, his eyes widened for a second before narrowing in anger.   
“We should burn this place to the ground.” 

“You need to bind that wound.” She told him, reaching down to grab Adrax by the collar of his shirt. “There’ll be rags in the kitchen. You see to that.” She gave him a crooked smile, “I’ll stoke the ovens and roast this pig right here in his sty.”  
Then she heaved the dead man over her shoulder with a soft grunt, heading up the stairs with a tentative glance up through the mouth of the cellar door.   
“Looks clear.” She whispered back to him before stepping up, and tossing Adrax to the floor with about as much grace as he’d given her earlier, (while she was still breathing.)

He followed her through to the kitchen cautiously, catching the rags as she tossed them his way. “Right, I won’t be much use if I bleed out.” A lop-sided smile of his own broached his lips, watching as she methodically went about, searching for stoker and easing open the oven grate. She pulled out most of them, guiding some toward Adrax, and then kicking a few more out through the kitchen gate toward the bar.  
  
“Keep an ear out while I find some flour…” She murmured to him, moving toward the pantry on the tips of her boots to see if she’d be lucky enough to find anything actually used for cooking in there. 

_Flour_ . Of course. He hummed to himself as he tied off the rags, the coals that had been kicked around were already starting to smoulder. All it needed was something to give it a spark.  
“This place is going to go up like year old kindling.”

She chuckled suddenly, stifling her laughter behind a hand before glancing over her shoulder toward him. “You know Pas, I might have imagined our first kiss lots of times, but I never imagined we’d be sharing it in a pillow house.” She said, gently teasing before her face disappeared behind the cupboard door. 

Luckily her face was in the cupboard, else she would have seen him turn beet red, even through all the bruising. He was mostly ashamed that he’d let his guard down so quickly. His guard was always down around her.   
“I, well. You know. I was swept up in the moment.” He grimaced as she appeared with a hefty bag of flour, walking close and taking a few handfuls of the powder. “Not that it wasn’t lovely.. besides the knife.” He chuckled, it was odd. In this instant, readying to burn down a building in the middle of the Brume and in such a sorry state as he was, Pas felt at ease. He threw his handfuls across the room toward the stairwell heading upstairs and toward the stage, each handful a weight from his shoulders. This felt right.

“I’m not complaining. Get swept up in the moment any time you like.” She replied as she put the bag down on the counter beside him, watching him scatter the flour with a smile.   
“It’s a shame we won’t be here to see the rafters fall.” She said, he head canting to the side as she pulled off one of Adrax’s leather gloves and picked up one of the coals she had scattered. “I’m sure there will be more than a few people with a secret cheer in their hearts.” She said, thinking of the sickly smell of somnus in the rooms upstairs, and the sounds she had heard while she lay on the scratched and dirty floor. She licked at her fat bottom lip.   
“It would be quite cathartic to watch it burn; I must admit.” He found the idea amusing; it was not something he would have ever even considered doing even a few weeks ago. 

Pascalle raised a playful eyebrow. “Would you like to do the honours, my love?” he bowed courteously as he did so. Seemingly not thinking much further ahead than the current moment. 

“Well we’re not going to trust your aim after you’ve had a sword through your shoulder.” She chuckled,   
  
“Be careful” Pas called out over his shoulder.

Once she saw he was safely into the cellar, Nasrinne took a deep breath and threw the coal she was holding out into the common room, watching as it splintered apart into slivers of burning red. Then she grabbed a handful of flour, flinging it toward Adrax’s corpse and _dove_ down the cellar steps. “ _Run!”_ Slamming the trap doors closed behind her, practically tumbling down the steps and into Pascalle. The tell-tale sounds of pop and fizzle letting them both know there was no turning back now.

Quickly he turned to his side with one arm open to scoop her close as she came toward him. In a single swing he pulled her close to his chest, catching her before she could fall. She might have swooned at any other time. But Pascalle’s hand was already firmly around hers, tugging her with him down the tunnel, into the darkness.

They ran, their feet slamming into the packed earth beneath them, the sound of thunder ricocheting up the tunnel behind. The force of the blast was enough to almost knock them off balance; as the kitchen folded in on the cellar, hair whipping around their faces. It was only their forward momentum which managed to keep them from both falling flat on their faces.  
But soon, the only sound in their ears was their racing footsteps and harried breath. The dark tunnel seemed to ring with the heavy silence as they finally slowed. Nasrinne glanced behind her into the blackness. There would be no one following from behind, she knew, still she couldn’t help but look back. After all, back there somewhere was the person she used to be. She could almost still see her, lying on the dusty wooden floor while the flames crackled merrily beneath her, fiery red tongues, ready to swallow her up.   
She turned her face again slowly, looking up at Pascalle, the sharp silhouette of his features dim to her eyes, but still solid. A shape still real enough to hold on to. She reached for his hand instinctively as she spoke,   
“This must lead us out somewhere.” She said, “Somewhere close enough to the Steps of Faith to let the Brotherhood’s men slip quietly down into the Brume…” She rubbed her other hand across the back of her neck as she thought. “Whitebrim would be the safest place for us right now, if we can get there. Neither of us are in any shape to use the aetheryte. But my family still holds lodgings there... we might be able to try and contact the Adder’s…” She swallowed, wondering to herself what the Adder’s would even say to them now. Nasrinne could feel the cold beginning to prickle at her skin as they lingered. “We should keep moving at any rate.”

It was impossible to really gauge how long they travelled, or exactly what path the twisting passage of hewn stone really took them along. But eventually, it opened up into an abandoned corner of Foundation. A building with hardly any roof left to speak of, no doors, and plenty of stones missing from the walls. It’s exit was neatly shielded from the view of the guard’s watchpoint’s by virtue of some conveniently scattered piles of rubble.  
But if it had been morning when they had fled the pillow house, then almost a whole day had passed, for a velvet-blue sky peeked down at them from between the clouds.  
  
It was a small matter to wait for a small caravan of traders to pass by. It wasn’t unusual for trader’s to leave in the evening. Those wanting to peddle their wares at Dragonhead’s morning market often tried to arrive the evening before. And late deliveries were hardly looked upon favourably by the Lord’s stationed at Whitebrim, or the Observatorium.  
Nasrinne drew a sharp little breath as the merchant stopped to declare his route to the bridge guards.   
“Follow close behind me. As soon as those knights turn to wave the gates open, we’ll climb into that covered wagon at the back.” She whispered the plan, pausing for a moment to be certain he agreed before she darted forward, winding her way around discarded crates and stacks of salvage, all iced over. 

Fortunately for Pascalle and Nasrinne, the rear wagon was carrying bundled furs. She split one, and they buried themselves beneath them, (both for warmth and concealment.) And fortune stayed with them, for the caravan’s first destination was the Front. As he peeked through the bundles of furs as the wagon creaked along their destination came into view. The mere sight of Whitebrim was a salve to Pascalle’s troubled and wearied mind. The snow laid out before them like a welcoming duvet of white and that old home of Nasrinne’s lay at least a temporary salvation. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes an explicit sex scene.

**_Whitebrim; Central Coerthas_ **

Nasrinne had spent enough late nights sneaking into the family’s apartment, nestled toward the back of the keep, that she knew well enough how to avoid the night patrols and the neighbours. They made it through without a soul seeing them, or hearing his exhausted footsteps. 

She shut the door softly behind them, flicking the locks closed. “I’ll get the fire started, heat some water for a bath.” Her eyes glanced over his bruised and bloody countenance, “I’m sure we could both do with one.” 

It took just about everything Pascalle had not to fall into a battered heap on the floor.

“Before getting here a bath was the last thing from my mind.” He paused, eyes locked to Nasrinne as he fought the urge to just stare off into the distance, a tiny smile broached the corner of his lips. “That does sound ever so lovely.” Everything was exactly as it had been when she had left this place, so many moons ago now. Firewood still stacked by the side of the breadstove. How many moons had it been? Her nameday would be coming up soon, it had nearly been a year since she’d argued in this kitchen with her Mother about Ygrinne’s ruff. She swallowed the uncomfortable feeling, the minglings of grief and regret as she stoked the fire. 

“This heats the pipes, they run up behind the stoves. It doesn’t take very long…” She said as she turned back toward him, eyes locking with his.    
“No one’s going to be coming here for a while. Mother is staying with Ygrinne and… well, I can’t imagine either of them will want to be returning here very quickly. And it isn’t as if they’ll get to the bottom of what happened to Adrax overnight…”

He took a few tired steps and fell into one of the chairs, reaching down and unlacing his muddied boots. Everything had changed with this. His frozen aching fingers tugged at each knot slowly. Pascalle kicked his boots across the floor with little regard, sending a few specs of mud splattering onto the wooden floor. Normally he would be apologising and cleaning the mess, but his mind was in other places. 

“He won’t stop. You know.” His words were almost spoken within a single long sigh. “We’re following the rules while they dance around them… an almost hopeless endeavour.” His Azure eyes once again met hers. 

_ We’re following the rules while they dance around them.  _ She sighed, a frown tugging at the corner of her lips.

“I’m not following the rules anymore.” She told him, a hardness to the words. “And I don’t think you are either, unless burning down buildings is somewhere in the Temple Knight’s playbook… Let’s deal with the things we can deal with now. Bath, bandage your wounds properly, maybe try and eat something…” She held out her hand for him to take, her serious gaze softening slightly “Then we can talk about,  _ all the rest of it _ .” 

_ All the rest of it. _ She thought to herself. Where would they even start? 

There is something about that gaze of hers he would never find in another woman, as if there was a bridge between their souls. He stifled a chuckle at her words, agreeing so easily with him. _We can talk about, all the rest of it._   
Pascalle felt equal as a human being, as someone of intelligence and self-worth. It was not a feeling he expected to find anywhere outside of the battlefield.   
  
“What’s to come will require courage, on both our parts...” The metal pipes began to rattle slightly as the water inside heated up and started to bubble away, his head turning toward the sound. “But you’re right, we should at least deal with what we can now.” Pas tugged open the buttons of his shirt, once again wincing in pain as the cloth pulled tight over the battered parts of his chest. 

“Courage is something we both have in spades. I think if I’ve learned anything this past turn of the sun, it’s that  _ caution _ is probably what we’re most in need of-”   
He watched her brow furrow at his efforts, moving swiftly to help him, small hands reaching up to help slide the shirt from his shoulders. He spoke then, with a candor that might have frightened her, but he said it anyway.

“I love you, Nasrinne. I love you with everything that I am but I'm so scared that if you stay with me, you'll die."    
  
She paused, fingers clutching the cloth lightly as she looked into his eyes with that very predictable little roundness of her mouth.   
“ _ Oh _ ,” came her little stammered gasp. A sound only he could draw from her lips. “Pascalle…” She trailed off, as she struggled to find the words. Her, struggling to speak.  _ What would Jhuls think of you, lost for words? _ The thought caught her even more off guard.    
“Everyone dies, Pascalle.” She said finally, a trace of sadness in her voice that was soon swept away in the swell of emotion that followed it. “So, there’s no use being afraid of that. I’ll die whether I stay with you, or not. That’s just what happens. It’s how stories end.” She spoke quietly as she began to help him undress again, “And I  _ want _ to stay with you, Pascalle. I can’t bear the thought of not being by your side. I know I love you, but it’s not just that. It’s more than that. I’m  _ better _ when I’m with you… you make me better, and right now…” She paused again, feeling the hot prick of tears at the corner of her eyes. “Right now I’m afraid of who I’d be, without you.” 

He let Nasrinne’s hands guide his shirt off of him over his beaten body. Her words were a mirror of his own thoughts, how had he ever managed without her he did not know. “This is the truth of things, I know. Everyone will have their time come eventually.” Seeing the welling of tears in her eyes, Pas wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, gently rubbing her arm. As he tugged her toward his chest, she wanted to melt into him. He was like a shieldwall, bracing her against all of the blows that struck against her heart. It was with no small reluctance that she unwound herself from his embrace   
  
“I’ve a proposal in mind…” The pipes were rattling intensely, calling his attention. “After a bath...” he smiled weakly, as he headed toward the washroom.

She watched him leave with a careworn smile. The fire crackled behind her, it would need more logs if they intended to keep the place warm for the rest of the night. She gathered up a few more logs of wood to get the other hearth’s lit. Plus, if her memory served her right, (which it usually did,) her Father kept a small kit of chirurgeon’s essentials in the storage closet in the hall…

The iciness that had gripped Pascalle’s body was long gone by the time they had gotten to dinner. A warm bath and fresh set of clothes had done wonders for him, his body was feeling less worse for wear than he had expected. “Well I can honestly say we at least came out better than the Mad dog could have.” Quite tasteless in the moment but it still brought a chuckle forth from his belly.

“Well, we came out for one.” She snickered at his little quip as she curled up beside him on the lounge.

As he sank into the armchair, together with Nasrinne, a small plate of dried meats and cheese between them to share. He felt their eyes closed to the world and its troubles. There was a rumble from his stomach when he looked down at the wooden platter in his lap, his body finally catching up to his mind. Could he have opened his mouth any wider he would have eaten the block of sharp cheese in one bite, (as it were only taking a good quarter. Manners seemed to be the last thing on his mind.) With a half-cocked smile he offered her the platter.   
“Sorry, please you must be famished. You’ve done well to prepare such a feast with what little you must have had on hand.” 

It had been almost a moon since anyone had truly lived in the apartments her family rented from the Hallienartes here.    
“There wasn’t much left to speak of in the larder,” She replied with a slightly bashful smile, “But the cellar yielded a few provisions,” (Still stacked and stored in crates. The Hallienartes were probably going to make use of them eventually, but they’d hardly miss a supper.) She cut herself off her own corner of cheese (about a quarter the size of Pascalle’s portion,) and popped it into her mouth with a small piece of bread.   
“No Lohmani Rosso, unfortunately. But there were a few bottles of Ishgardian red to choose from. And, I found a healing salve, and some clean bandages. I left them in the kitchen, but it should be enough to see your shoulder fit for swinging that fancy sword of yours again in a day or two.” With that said, she leaned forward toward the bottle, pouring them each a glass, turning to hand one to him, before picking up her own. A subtle frown tweaking at her lips as she caught a glimpse of her own haggard reflection.  “Ygrinne would have a fit if she saw me sitting on the parlour chairs with this much grime on me.” She laughed. “I’ll run myself a bath after supper…” She trailed off, did Ygrinne know now, that their brother was dead? Did her Mother know? She took a long swig of her wine, attempting to drown the unpleasant questions. She flicked a matted lock of hair out of her eyes, 

“Ishgardian red?” he smirked. “If I shall have to make do.” He jested, as he chewed away at his meal, taking the freshly poured glass as he gulped down the mouthful. “Ygrinne couldn’t handle herself nearly as well as you do, my dear.” He held his glass aloft as if toasting her before tipping back a  _ rather _ large mouthful, he knew he would have to divulge his plan to Nasrinne sooner or later. This moment couldn’t last forever. 

Nasrinne’s laughter had a shade of guilt to it.    
“Well, Ygrinne’s never had to handle herself.” She said with all her practiced humility, taking a sip of her wine, “She’s had to handle embroidery, and dinner parties, and babies though. And I’m rubbish with all of that nonsense. Honestly, it’s much easier to be a soldier than it is a noble woman.” Still, her ears had flushed a faint pink at his roundabout praise. “Anyway, there was something you wanted to talk about before all that, wasn’t there?” She asked, turning to face him, head canting slightly to the right. 

His heart sank slightly when she asked, lowering his glass to his lap as a long sigh left his lips.    
“It’s hard to know where to start.” He smiled weakly, looking down into the swirling red liquid in his glass. His gaze met hers again. “I need to send you away for a while. In secret.” The words were difficult to pass from his lips. 

“Send me away!?” The protest left her lips almost as soon as he’d spoken the words. 

_ Send me away _ . Those words broke his heart, “And I must return to House Dubois. To Artreux’s side.” His head shook from side to side as his brows furrowed. “I figure if I can just get close to him so he believes me faithful to his, and the brotherhood's cause. Perhaps there is a way to destroy them from within and with you out of the picture there is naught he could do to harm me.” Pascalle felt much weight lifted and a strong determination to carry this through to the end. Artreux’s end. “No man's law will ever stop them, if we’re to live Artreux has to die.” 

Her eyes shimmered, glazed with her distress and confusion.    
  
“If you can get close to him? Pascalle…” Nasrinne shook her head, not wanting to call him foolish, for truthfully. It wasn’t a foolish plan at all. Giving Artreux what he so dearly wanted. But where would that leave her?    
“That man…” She said, unwilling to call his Father by his name, “...has taken very nearly everything from me, Pascalle.” There was a coldness to her countenance, her eyes drifting from his face, to her wine glass, to the fire, crackling merrily in the hearth. “You can’t expect me to simply crawl beneath some rock and wait for you to tell me it’s safe to come out again.” She was hurt, there was no hiding it. She thought about her Father, about Jhulayne. About arguing with Ygrinne and her Mother about hats with not a soul to say;  _ leave her be, let her ride her bird with her hair down. _ Her brows knitted together morosely as she watched the flames. Then she thought about Adrax and his pillow house, all ablaze. Wasn’t that enough? She asked herself.

_ No. _ Came the stony reply of her mind. No. That wasn’t enough. 

He watched Nasrinne search desperately in her thoughts for another way this could be dealt with. But he knew it would be fruitless, she would come to the same conclusion he had.    
“It’s too dangerous to poke at the nest as we have been. In all honesty we’re both lucky we’re not dead already.” His words were soft but almost pleading. Hoping she would realise soon enough this would be the best for them both in the long run.

“You shouldn’t dirty your hands with patricide.” It would never be enough. “I’ll kill him myself. I’ll go and do it tonight...” She whispered with a venom he had never heard before. And she meant it. She would. She would march up to the front door of his manor and put an arrow through every man who stood between her and him until they cut her down.   
Which is what would happen. She knew.    
“Damn his brotherhood. Damn his house guards.” Her head snapped back to face him again, tears brimming in her eyes. “Everything. He’s taken  _ everything _ , Pascalle, I can’t… I can’t let him take you too.” She said it so forlornly, “Is there really no other way?” Her voice trembled, each word laden with the knowledge that no, there wasn’t. 

As she offered to kill the man herself it was all he could do to stop her, placing a hand on her softly as she realised she would be cut down the second she showed her face   
“I do not believe there is.” Pas spoke solemnly. “...It would not be fruitless, your time spent away. And of course I will still be in need of help and...” he trailed off, the details could be worked out but he knew this night would be one of their last together for quite a time. “Go. Have that bath and forget your worries for at least a little while.” He squeezed her shoulder firmly, his smile was warm and comforting. 

His hand wrapped around the small curve of her shoulder while his lips curled up in that expression of sweet sincerity that she had come to adore. She gave a resigned sigh, her eyes closed, hand brushing the top of his in a gesture that said,  _ alright _ . But Nasrinne couldn’t return his smile. 

\----

**_R18+ Scene_ **

Baths were a good place to think about things. And also, a good place to cry, because there was always plenty of water around to wash your face with. Nasrinne had been doing a lot of both. Quietly. Submerged in the warm waters.

She pushed the wet strands of hair back from her face as she let out a long-suffering sigh. How could this be happening? Just yesterday she had thought they were about to hand Artreux up to de Borel on a silver platter. Then, as her mind carried it, they’d make Jhulayne a member of the new Parliament, and Pascalle would be free of the wretched man that spawned him and his devilish machinations; the Adder’s would give her reign to be an adventurer…

Instead, Jhulayne was dead. Pascalle would be tight in his Father’s clutches. And she would have to run away and leave everything she’d ever known and ever loved behind.

She watched the tears falling upon the surface of the bathwater with a strange detachment, as if she had cried so much over the cruelty of fate her heart was empty and now her eyes simply wept for posterity. She felt numb, and her tears were like raindrops casting ripples on a vast pond.

All this angst was ineffectual, she told herself as sternly as possible. And didn’t Pascalle deserve someone to trust him and his decisions? For once in his life? Didn’t he deserve that?

He did. And if they truly existed, the Gods she thought hollow, they  _ knew _ she would give it to him. She’d give anything to him, anything he asked for.

Nasrinne held onto that thought as she climbed out of the bath. Drying herself off, shrugging on a pair of loose pants and a soft woolen tunic before padding back out barefoot to where Pascalle still sat with his glass of wine upon the couch. Truthfully, it was a fresh glass, at least judging by the look of the bottle.

“So,” She said softly as she tip-toed toward him, “How do you expect to convince your Father you’re done with all of this, and ready to be the son he always wanted.” It was a fair question to ask, and she sat herself down on the couch next to him, tucking herself into a cross-legged position, her face a picture of earnestness.

Pascalle sighed, reaching out a hand to touch her knee.

“With the truth.” He said to her gently. “I’m going to tell him that I love you, and I’m willing to do  _ whatever _ it takes to keep you from harm.”

She glanced down at his hand, frowning.

“You don’t really believe he’s a man of his word, do you Pascalle? You don’t expect a shred of honour in him… because-”

“Of course not.” He cut her off, a tad sharply. But then he laughed, and his hand squeezed at her leg gently. “No, you sweet thing. He’ll kill you just to be rid of you and try and keep me none the wiser. I’m no fool, Nasrinne. We’ll need to get you  _ far _ away. And I cannot know where you are until you’re there, and you’re safe…”

She opened her mouth to protest again, but then she remembered herself. This man didn’t deserve her protest. Not now. Even if she hated Artreux with every ounce of hatred a soul could possibly muster… she didn’t know him. Pascalle  _ did _ .

“Tell me then. Even if I flee to Garlemand, how will we keep him from tracking me down?”

“We’ll make it seem as if Gridania is where you’ve fled to. And he and his hounds in the brotherhood can have a merry goose chase trying to find you.”

She nodded slowly.

“If Hastaleyan doesn’t pose a problem for us…”

“You could handle Hastaleyan.” He gave her a wry grin, and her lips split apart in kind.

“Pour me another glass of wine.” A breathy chuckle left her lips, “And then tell me how I’m supposed to be of any use to you,  _ far _ away…”

“Artreux has to die.” He said it again. So simply. Like he was talking about the weather. Tilting the glass in his hand, pouring the wine expertly as a sommelier. A small part of Nasrinne wondered if perhaps sometime; in the deep, dark secret parts of the night, Pascalle hadn’t thought about doing something like this before.

“We’re quite blind on the Brotherhood, their real motives and goals… but we know they deal in murder and poison. We’ve dealt my Father quite the blow in getting rid of his mad dog. We’ve weakened him. If I can get close enough to him, then I believe I can find out enough about just how the Brotherhood do things to use his own methods against him.” He handed the drink to her, picking up his own cup again and leaning back. “But I’m no repository of botanical knowledge, my dear.” He gave her a playful smirk, “That’s you. So, it’s you I shall be relying on to unravel the mysteries of the concoctions they use. And one  _ specific _ one, in particular.”

“The one he used to murder Mirielle.” She said quickly before raising the glass to her lips. “The same one they used in some of the murders the Adder’s were investigating. The one Brynne was collecting the black yew for.”

“If I had even a fraction of your memory…” Pascalle shook his head, looking at her with genuine admiration. “Yes, I’d forgotten about the black yew. See, you’re helping already.”

“If you could get a sample, it might be possible to deconstruct the recipe…” Nasrinne conceded, feeling her ears grow hot once more at the sound of his platitudes, coupled with that sincere, intense, ice-blue gaze. “You know it’s very hard to concentrate when you’re looking at me like that… do you have any idea how  _ beautiful _ your eyes are?” She asked him shyly.

“Impossibly beautiful, or so you told me that night, with the belladonna…” He whispered roguishly, leaning closer to her.

Nasrinne bit her lip as the heat spread down her ears, and across her cheeks, over the bridge of her nose.

“I thought perhaps you’d forgotten that…” She murmured feeling both awkward and strangely elated at the same time.

“Forgotten it? Oh no. Sometimes I thought I might have imagined it, but… I couldn’t forget it, you see.” He placed his palm over the top of her hand, lowering her glass, his face dangerously close to hers, “Because I had wanted to tell you then, you don’t need any belladonna to make your eyes pretty either, Nasrinne. There isn’t a star sapphire in Dravania that could match their lustre.”

Then his lips swept hers up in theirs, and Nasrinne’s eyes fluttered closed.

She gave a tender sigh as they parted, letting her gaze trace every ilm of his face, trying to sear it into her memory forever.

“I’m sorry,” He told her with a smile that seemed to say the opposite, “I’m distracting us.” He lifted his hand, straightening his posture again.

“I don’t mind.” She bit her lip, twirling a raven strand of hair about her finger. “But it’s funny you should mention the belladonna… maybe Arnor can be of some help to us…” She mused. “He’s got no love for Brotherhood, and he knows a little bit more about them than we do…”

Pascalle frowned at the mention of the pirate, taking another long draft of his wine.

“Perhaps. Although I wouldn’t bank on it.” He said, with what Nasrinne thought  _ might _ have been a touch of jealousy, though she didn’t make any mention of it.

“I think one of the main problems we’ll run into is neither of us are really alchemists. We’ll have to learn…” She said, changing the subject…

The bottle was soon emptied, as they discussed the limitations and advantages of their plan. After what they’d just been through, it was hardly surprising really. The wine did a good job of numbing the sharpness of their reality. But it also had the dual effect of increasing their weariness.

“I lit the hearth in my room while you were in the bath.” She said, hiding a yawn behind her hand. “There’s a small lounge in there. But, well my bed is quite large, and I thought…” Only really realising what she was saying by the time she was halfway through speaking it. “We might…” Trailing off awkwardly in the knowledge that she had never invited a man to her room before. Hells. She’d only just kissed a man for the first (and second) time this evening.

“If it doesn’t bother you to share a bed with me… I wouldn’t want you to think me some kind of bullish brute.” Pascalle cleared his throat slightly. “I assure you I’ll never do anything without y-”

“It’s alright.” She cut him off with a bashful smile, setting her empty wine glass back down on the table. “I know you’re a gentleman, Pas.” Then she stood, reaching for his hand to help him to his feet and led him up the stairs.

The fireplace in her room was small, but it cast a rosy glow that was more than enough to see by, so she didn’t bother with the lights.

“Here,” she murmured, as she shifted the pillows around, to support his shoulder better before helping him down onto the soft feather mattress.

“Thank you,” He replied, his tone equally as hushed. She bit her lip again, trying to fight off an urge to smile. An urge which she couldn’t place any logical real reason for having in that moment. Then she turned and went to her dresser which was precisely as it had been when she left for Ul’dah. She took up the comb with the heavy silver handle. A hand-me down from Ygrinne, but far too fancy for travelling around with so she hardly used it.

“My hair’s still a little damp, so I’m just going to put it up…” She explained, feeling inexplicably clumsy as she tugged the little bone teeth through her hair. She put it down again, avoiding his gaze, searching instead for a ribbon.

“Wouldn’t want you to catch a chill.” He murmured, “Not that I think that really happens myself. But I’m sure that’s what Yggy’s told you.”

Nasrinne snorted,

“Yes. Of course. Who else?” She swept her hair to one side, and tied it loosely there, “Oh and I’m sure Mother has said it too.” She added with a casual little wave of her hand as she wound her way to the far side of the bed, climbing under the covers, propping herself up on an elbow to look at him so he didn’t have to move.

“Are you comfortable enough?”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

She gave a slight hum of amusement, reaching her hand across his bare chest until the tips of her fingers just brushed against the edge of his bandages. He gave a slight flinch, drawing a short, soft breath.

“Does it still hurt?” She asked him, concerned and perhaps a little guilty at the thought that she’d caused him discomfort.

“Yes, but less and less, at the feel of your gentle touch.” He whispered, sweetly.

A crooked smile tugged at her lips,

“Liar.” She said with a breath of laughter.

“Well…” He grinned slyly, reaching out, running his fingers along the side of her face before he wrapped them about the nape of her neck, tugging her down toward the pillow and closer to him. Their mouths met in a short, tender, kiss before they parted.

She pressed her cheek against his, breathing in the scent of his hair upon the pillow. Her eyes fluttering closed as she nuzzled there against him, planting a series of feathery kisses along his tapered ear. 

He closed his own eyes, murmuring her name dreamily. The sound sweeter than any song she could think of in that moment.

Then his lips caught hers in another kiss, and his hand stroked along her shoulder. His touch warm and inviting, and she felt her own lips part as a shiver coursed its way up her spine.

“Pascalle…” She sighed his name as his mouth traced its way across her cheek and down the side of her neck.

“Nasrinne,”

The feathery caress of his lips as he purred against her skin caused her breath to falter. Heart trembling erratically beneath her breast as his fingers slid toward the cap of her sleeve, pushing the fabric there to the side so his lips could graze along her collarbone.

“Pascalle.” She said again, with a hint of apprehension, pulling away from him slightly.

“Nasrinne, what is it?” He said, pulling away slightly, “I’m sorry, I’ll stop.” His eyes glimmering pensively in the dim light.

“No, it’s not that.” She licked her lips, gaze sliding away from his. “It’s just I’ve never… I mean before tonight I-” She stammered hesitantly, overwhelmed by the looming knowledge of her own inexperience.

His hand cupped her chin, guiding her eyes back toward his face.

“I can show you,” He said it to her so tenderly, “If you want me to,” so considerately, “If that’s what  _ you _ want to do.” Said it all without an onze of the sordid undertones she’d ever expected such words to carry. With that painfully honest and sincere way he had of looking at her. As if she was the most precious and rare thing in all of his existence. She felt the heat rise up through her chest, tingling as it spread across her cheeks.

She shook her head, drawing a quivering breath before she spoke.

“I do want that,” She whispered it so innocently. Her face all aflush with her bashfulness, as she gave a single, timid nod of her head. “Show me, please.”

“Oh…” Pascalle sighed, _eagerly_ “ _You_ _little dear_ …” He whispered, pulling her toward him again, seizing her lips in his with a gentle roughness. His fingers found the front of her shirt, winding about the cord there. Unlacing the knot with a single tug before he pushed the cloth aside, exposing the creamy, porcelain skin hidden beneath. Her gasp hitched in her throat as his sharp blue eyes fell upon the smooth curve of her small, pert breasts. 

“Beautiful,” He murmured, as his gaze met hers again, palm gently cupping around one of them, grazing his thumb over it. She shivered, wholly unaccustomed to the sensation of another’s touch against the flesh there.

“Hmmm.” He sighed against her neck. “To think all this heavenly bounty has gone unappreciated for so long…” His mouth swept up the lobe of her ear, nibbling it delicately before his lips traipsed onwards. Down, along the line of her neck. Down, across the ridge of her collarbone. All the way down to where his hand cradled her breast, where they wrapped greedily over the humble mound giving it a soft, teasing nip as his other arm sweeping around her, rolling her onto her back.

“Pascalle… Your shoulder…” She said looking up at him wide-eyed between her faltering breaths,

“Forget about my shoulder.” He told her with a low sultry chuckle, leaning his face down closer toward hers. Her lips parted expectantly, but his mouth missed them. Instead planting another lingering kiss upon the flesh of her chest. Then his ministrations moved further along, his hands sliding over her ribs. Lips gossamer soft across her skin, tongue tracing lascivious circles over this unexplored territory of hers.

His thumbs hooked beneath the band of her loose, cotton pants and then he paused, looking up at her, eyes shining with desire.

She returned his gaze timorously. The truth was Nasrinne had spent such a long-time avoiding thinking about being in this situation, that now she was in it, she had no idea what to do.

“Are you sure?” He asked her, hesitating, hands hovering there, waiting for her answer.

“Y-yes.” She stuttered her reply without meaning to. Heart palpitating wildly in her chest.

His grin was wry as he leaned his face back down toward hers, the perfect visage of a dashing rogue. Then he slid the garment over the jut of her hips, and his lips locked over hers passionately. The fingers of one hand wandering across her thigh, slowly working their way through the dark patch of whisper-fine hair, gently parting the velvet folds. She moaned into his mouth through no volition of her own, feeling a strangely pleasant throb between her thighs that she had never felt before in her nearly twenty-eight years of life.

As his thumb brushed atop the pearl of her maidenhood, Nasrinne’s mind grew cloudier. His fingers stroked up and down along her sex. Two long, slender digits probing deeper inside her, darting in and out of the dampening entrance. She bucked beneath him. Breath leaving her in feverish pants, her own hands seeking out the silken strands of his hair, pulling him closer, kissing him with a sudden fierceness. She felt his growing arousal press against the flesh of her thigh. Her hands moved instinctively toward the drawstring of his trousers, sliding beneath the fabric to wrap around the warm, hard flesh of his erection. Giving it an experimental tug and stroke with her nimble fingers.

Pascalle’s eyes widened in surprise, not that her eagerness displeased him. It was quite the opposite, actually, and he practically tore his own pants off in his haste to be rid of them. The urgency of his movement faded after they were discarded, stroking her cheek tenderly with the back of his hand as he gazed into her eyes.

_ Are you sure? _ He wanted to ask her before they did anything. But Nasrinne was sure. Achingly sure.

By the time his lips moved to speak the question, she had already taken him inside of her in one swift movement. So instead, the only sound he made was a low, guttural groan of pleasure, timed in perfect unison with her soft gasp.

It didn’t hurt the way she had expected it to. A passing flinch amidst a rising tide of bliss. Her thighs pressed themselves against his side as his hips bucked against hers. She was tight, and warm and everything about her was irresistibly yielding as he looked down at her beneath him. Her raven hair tousled against the sheets, the gentle arc of her neck as she rolled her head backwards, eyes closed and mouth so delicately parted. Pascalle couldn’t help himself, thrusting deeper as his hands curved around the small of her back, lifting her so that he could bury his face against the sweetness of her skin while she raked her nimble fingers through his hair, her lips pressed against his neck. They rocked against each other, movements building steadily toward their shuddering crescendo until they both collapsed. Spent, limbs tangled.

In truth, it hadn’t lasted long. How could it, when it was the culmination of so many moons of repressed longing? But neither of them cared. Both of them more than happy to bask quietly in the vaguely euphoric afterglow that accompanies such amorous activities. Breathing in the scent of one another’s skin.

He thought she smelled of lilac and lavender, of the soft twilight of the valley in spring. To her, he smelled like rosemary and cedarwood, like the forest after a summer storm.

He held her in his arms as they lay there, planting a kiss upon her forehead.

“If only Gods granted wishes, I would wish to stay here with you in this moment forever.” He murmured, entwining his fingers in hers. “I love you, more than I can even begin to explain. And tomorrow… after this. All that I’ve asked of you, and…” He trailed off with a frustrated sigh.

“Do you remember what I said to you that day we were skipping stones in Gridania?” She asked, glancing up at him,

“You said you trust me.” He answered her softly, but without hesitation.

“That’s right, and I do.” She smiled, nestling into the crook of his arm. “I have loved you from the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

“The first moment? In the Forgotten Knight?” There was a hint of laughter dancing beneath his words.

“The very first moment.” She stretched up to peck him on his cheek for emphasis. “And I will love you until my last moment. You’re my whole world now. There’s no one else, Pascalle. Only you.”

“My brave, beautiful, darling bard and your way with words,” She could hear his smile in his voice. “Nasrinne,” He whispered her name sweetly against the crown of her head, “No matter what happens, I will never love another as I love you. I need you to know that. To believe it.”

“I do.” She told him, with certainty. “No matter what happens. I do know. It’s the only thing I know I’m sure of anymore.” She closed her eyes, savouring the feel of being held by him. “You and I, we we’re meant to be together. I’ve never much believed in fate. But I believe that.”

“We will be together.” He told her resolutely, squeezing her tightly to him. “Whatever it takes. I promise you.”

\----


	8. Chapter 8

**_The High Verdict; Open Seas_ **

The sun was beating down on his head, elbows leaning on the wooden railing as he looked down the pier at an Elezen and lightly packed chocobo approaching. The bird was obviously well trained as it kept close without her having to hold any reins. Though she wore her hair differently, and her clothing was simple but practical (A look that he personally felt better fit her disposition). It was definitely Nasrinne Filios. He stood straight when she addressed him. The Hyur walked slowly toward the top of the gangplank, his hand running along the wooden railing. 

It felt like it had been a long time since Nasrinne had seen Arnor. It hadn’t. Three months had passed. Maybe four. But it wasn’t the passage of time that changed a person really. It was what they experienced. 

  
_ I’ve done my part in your little suicide pact. _

That’s what he’d said to her the last time they’d met. Her lips pursed together as she looked at the pirate’s ship. Well, he wasn’t really a pirate now, was he? She’d seen to that. Her and Jhuls.

She straightened her shoulders as she walked down the pier, head held high on her long, elegant neck. She didn’t have much with her. Just Softbeak, who trotted obediently behind her with a single rucksack behind the saddle. The chocobo gave a gentle  _ kweh _ , looking toward her. 

“Can’t be any worse than an airship.” She told her feathered friend with a lopsided smile. The two of them came to a halt at the edge of the gangplank. 

Sylbrael studied the woman with her usual impassive face. So this was the Ishgardian noble who had made Arnor into a Lord. The one who had tried to help Baron Rougecarpe.

She was shorter than she’d expected her to be. All the Elezen ladies in the Baron’s books had sounded impossibly tall, and beautiful. Not that this lady wasn’t beautiful. But it wasn’t the sort of beautiful the books described. It wasn’t a polished beauty, like a pearl. More like a vine of morning glory growing wild. She wasn’t dressed like the ladies in the books either. She had good boots on. They were high enough to cover her knees, but with flat soles. And a collar that would keep the sun off her neck. Smart. Sylbrael nodded her approval, mentally of course. She was still standing stiff as a board next to Arnor on the deck. Waiting to be spoken to. (Because that’s what she would have done if Baron Rougecarpe had ever had a visitor.)

“Been a while, Arnor.” Nasrinne said in greeting. “Lordship suiting you?” 

What else was she supposed to say to him?  _ Oh, hello Arnor. Good to see you. Yes, remember that time you called me a silly bint who was no match for the Brotherhood? Well, you were right. _

She didn’t have to say that anyway. It was written all over her face now. The hardness in her eyes, the way her smile didn’t reach them anymore. The way her lips barely twisted into a smile at all. Her hair was all shorn underneath, and she was dressed differently too. No lace, no silk. You wouldn’t think she was a noble, especially not with the modest amount of jewelry. A middling merchant maybe, or a green adventurer. But Arnor knew she was neither of those things. He wouldn’t have forgotten how neatly she unpacked all his secrets in that room in the Adder’s Nest. 

“It has its perks.” Arnor smirked; they hadn’t left on the  _ best  _ of terms, but she had done exactly as she had promised. A woman of her word. “Aye it be good to see you again, My Lady” He bowed and started to descend to the pier. “I apologise ye having to meet under the current circumstances. Matters standing as they are, Yer brother was a good sort.” 

Arnor looked genuinely sorrowful at his words to the Elezen on her brother, Jhulayne’s passing. “I would ‘ave been proud to sail The High Verdict under his flag.”

She frowned visibly as he bowed, one sleek raven brow lofting in that supercilious way it had in the Adder’s Nest. Oh yes, it was  **definitely** Nasrinne Filois.   
  
“Well you can quit all that,” She said with a wave of her hand as he came down the gangway. “I barely suffered it in Ishgard, I certainly won’t suffer three months of it on the ship. Nas is just fine.” She said to him with the makings of a smile. Still careworn. But there, just barely. “He was a good man.” She said softly, “The best I’ve ever known, save Pas.” 

_Well you can quit all that._ Arnor’s toothy cocksure smile returned, he figured it didn’t need much more reply than “Woulda worn thin fore long. That’s for sure.” He sighed relieved. Imagining having to keep up the formalities for three months wouldn’t have gone well for anybody. Arnor wasn't one to stand around and mope, not when there was work to be done (or fun to be had) “Sylbrael! Come down and help the Lady with her things and get the bird settled.” He waved the Roe down to come and help. Sylbrael was ready to move the moment she saw Arnor bow, and so she was striding down the gangway before her name had even left his lips.  
  
“Yes, Captain Tabor.” Doing her utmost best to keep her curiosity from showing on her face. She just caught the last part of what they were saying. _Just Nas_. She said to the Captain. Sylbrael committed it to memory. Arnor had told her a little about this woman. About her brother’s passing. Sylbrael had no family, but she could still remember how she had felt when the Baron had died. She didn’t want to upset this noble lady with her good boots at such a sad time with poor manners. _Just Lady Naz_. _No Lady Nazrin_. She repeated to herself.

Nasrinne cleared her throat, watching as he ordered a Roegadyn woman down to help them. She was tall, with legs as long and thick as the bloody ship’s mast. Nasrinne was hardly shy about admiring them.   
“Wouldn’t want to try run her down on foot.” She remarked glibly beneath her breath, though of course Arnor would hear it. 

“Hear that, Softbeak?” She asked, much as if she was talking to a person. “That’s Sylbrael. She’s going to show you around the ship because she knows it better than I do, alright?” 

Softbeak’s intelligent blue eyes flickered toward the approaching Roe, she let out a soft coo as Nasrinne pet her gently on the beak. 

“She won’t give you any trouble.” She told Sylbrael, taking up the reins in a loop and handing them to her. “She’s a good girl, aren’t you Softbeak?”

“ _ Kweh! _ ” Softbeak said, almost as if in agreement. 

Sylbrael didn’t have a lot of experience with chocobos. Baron Rougecarpe had kept some racing birds, but she’d never been involved with the care of them. The bird cocked its head slightly, taking an experimental step toward the Roegadyn now holding the reins. 

He watched amusedly as Nas spoke to her animal as if it understood her every word, though admittedly it was very well trained. These Elezen were an odd lot.

“I will take her to the holdings, Lady Naz.” Sylbrael spoke very softly. Slowly, doing her best to avoid her clumsy grammar. 

Nasrinne’s lips twitched in a faint smirk of amusement. 

“Just  _ Nas _ . You can forget the Lady part, it’s just a waste of breath anyway. I don’t even know how to embroider.” She smirked a little. “Sylbrael, was it? Is that what you like to call yourself?” 

“What I like call myself. First Mate Brae.” Sylbrael replied with an easy smile. This Ishgardian noble lady didn’t talk like any of the one’s in the books either. That was a relief… for a moment. Until she realised she forgot those little words. What did Baron Rougecarpe always call them? They annoyed her. Small and easy to forget. She frowned, brow creasing as she began to correct herself hastily,    
“What I like  **_to_ ** call myself  **_is_ ** ,” 

“It’s fine,” The other woman cut her off before she finished, “I knew what you meant, First Mate Brae.” She gave another one of those flicks, with her hand. 

“What ave I told ya a hundred times over. There ain't no First Mate on this sloop.” Came a slightly frustrated interjection. Arnor rubbed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger as they continued introducing themselves. 

“Can I just call you Brae?” 

“Yes. You can.” She reminded Sylbrael of one of the actors at the matinees in Ul’dah the way she seemed to punctuate everything with a gesture. 

“Right, then I’ll just call you Brae, and you can just call me Nas. Easy.” She replied, giving Softbeak a final pat. 

“Call each other whatever ya want and we’ll be done with it. Anyways don’t be worrying about the bird.  _ Quartermaster  _ Brae will get her settled.” “Carn lets get you settled before some politician scouts us out.” He motioned them forward and they boarded the sloop, Anor followed up behind and came to a stop next to Nas just before stepping onto the deck as Sylbrael led Softbeak away.

“Yer little master o’ coin got word through. Sybrael’s helped to get ya holdings dusted. Should be secure while we make the trip to Shiro.” In fact he had much time over the past few months as a  _ Lord _ of House Filios, an  _ actual _ Ishgardian noble house gave him much sway in securing shipping contracts. All above board of course but that could be explained in time. 

“Mintori’s a good friend to have.” Her little Master of Coin. Well, she supposed he was now. He had all her gil, and there wasn’t anyone in the Holy See she’d trust with it. “He’ll be of much more use to you than me, soon. Three months on your ship, and then I won’t know a soul on the star when we dock. Mintori knows just about everyone worth knowing in Ul’dah and then some. I’m sure he’ll already have you more work lined up by the time you get back.” “You had any problems getting here?” he asked looking over her shoulder, down the pier whence she came, his eyes flicked back to hers.

“No trouble getting here. I suppose my immunity is earned now I’m the only Filois left. As long as I never go back to Ishgard. Or something like that.” She watched Sylbrael lead Softbeak away. “She seems kind. How long have you had her on? Where’s Thorvaesch though?” She asked referring to the Hrothgar who had been with him on the night at the Gold Saucer. 

“Thorvaesch found imself a real pair of legs. Some Feathercap he pulled one over. All so he could run off after some dove.” Arnor chuckled. “He cut me in, and I cut him off. Who’d I be to stand in the way of matters o’ the heart.” His laugh grew louder as he winked with jest at Nas, beckoning her to follow him onto the deck, maybe he’d wait to ask about the lanky idiot later.

“Good for Thorvaesch then.” Nasrinne replied without a lick of irony. She raked a hand through her hair, drawing a thin breath as she looked at the deck.   
“I’ve never been at sea before. Don’t make fun of me if I trip.” Then she stepped onto the gangplank, wondering to herself when she’d next set foot on Aldenard.

“Ah yer sure to ave a tumble or two fore ya find yer sealegs. I can’t promise much from me crew but ya won’t have no guff from me, Naz.” She managed to pull one over on him easily enough before, his crew wouldn’t stand a chance against her quick wit. “Yeah, ave ta get in touch with the little round. If he can deal me in at the Jewel we’ll be rolling in it in no time, enuff daydreamin’ tho." He started off again, boots clomping on the wooden deck. They could talk shop when they were safe out at sea.

“Right, that’ll lead us below deck” he pointed to the door a few paces away, where they would find the crew and Nasrinne’s personal quarters. “I’ll show you home for the next few months.”    
  
Her hands spread out either side of her as the deck lurched awkwardly beneath her feet in the lapping tide. After a few steps she had an uneasy grip on the way you were supposed to move. Her cobalt eyes cast a cautionary glare toward the ragtag group of sailors watching her.    
“So, Brae is Thor’s replacement then?” She asked as she reached the door, placing a grateful, bracing hand against its frame and peering down the stairwell that led below decks before following him down. 

“Aye that woman be cannier than she sounds and I aint’ never met a mot so loyal.” He smirked as he led her through the doorway which immediately led to a small set of stairs, with the sun still in the sky light was still spilling in behind them though it looked as though the cabin boy had been through and lit the mix of gas and traditional torches that adorned the lacquered wood walls. The ruddy glow bounced off the sheen of the rich, dark wood as they made their way down to the landing and into the Captain’s cabin. “I spose I should be tellin ye of my pride and joy. The High Verdict.” He perked up as he led Nas down to the first landing, opening the door for her to enter. The room was small but clean. A double bed sat under an arched bay window at the back of the ship, satin looking sheets draped down onto a woven rug of an eastern looking design. A small writing table, armoire, half-bookshelf and chair as well as a chest at the end of the bed and a storage closet to the side. “Throw yer things down anywhere. This be the captains’ cabin. The trip to Shirogane is a long one and I figured the crew’ll just get in yer way so best we hole you up in ere.”    
  
“That’s awfully gracious of you, giving up your bed for me.” She murmured as she set her bow and quiver down gently against the end of the bed. 

He let the door swing shut again as he continued the descent into the bowels of the ship.

“She’s a small tub so she’s fast, sits high on the tide as you’d ave seen when ye come aboard.” Arnor brought his arm to level as if mimicking the boat sitting high on the water. “Small so we can go into both shallow and deep waters.” 

It was always difficult for her to maintain a dour mood if someone was speaking about something animatedly. She’d never been one to shy away from stimulating conversations. Just boring ones. And Nasrinne knew nothing of ships. Her eyes flickered with the same keen curiosity he’d seen in them before as they watched his little demonstration.   
“A proper pirate ship then.” She said, following along on his little guided tour a few steps behind. Her fingers occasionally brushed the bulkhead to help her keep her balance, but she was doing well so far. All those years of breaking in chocobos, she supposed. 

They passed through the guards room, a small armoury of weapons and a table though nobody was in there currently. “She be small but will hold her own in a mill.” His steps echoed out and led them to the mess hall, dodging support beams and pillars as they walked. 

A long table was placed in the centre of the room surrounded by 6 chairs either side, there were 4 portholes, all closed, each with a cannon sat at it. “We keep 'em ready for emergencies. Four 16-pounder carronades ere’ n’ two long 6-pounder cannon as forward-mounted chase guns there ain’t be many able to escape The High Verdict.” He smiled broadly. “Supplies are down below, but I’ll take ye to yer bird before we set off.”

She gave a soft little hum beneath her breath as he explained the weaponry. “Not so different to canons on walls, really.” She said, glancing up at him again as he led her on to the makeshift stable. Wondering to herself for the first time how he came to have the pair of scars that decorated his face. Four moons ago, Nasrinne might have asked. But asking questions hadn’t really turned out so favourably for her. So she left it a mystery for now. 

“Tell me, did you name her yourself?” Nasrinne asked instead, gesturing toward the hull, another of her not-quite-smiles tugging at a corner of her lips.

“Nay, I did not name her. Tis a long story and we’ll ‘ave plenty o’ time ta yabber once we kick out to sea.” The Hyur strode throughout the rocking ship as if it was a grassy field. “No skin off me nose. Just don’t lose yer lunch in ‘ere. If ye start to feel a rumble in yer belly and your head starts to spin head ta sick bay in the stern just past the mess hall.” he pointed down through the next doorway along as he ducked his head into the room where Sylbrael and Softbeak were. 

One of the load bays had been converted for livestock, the room already occupied by Sylbrael and Softbeak who were getting settled. 

Sylbrael wondered to herself if all chocobos were this easy to handle. She had seen the ones in Baron Rougecarpe’s stable’s bite a handler before. But the only thing this bird bothered to do with her beak was helpfully tug at the billet of the saddle as she was unbuckling it.

“You are nice bird.” She said as she lifted the light leather seat from its back. “That how you get your name, eh? Softbeak?” 

“ _ Kweh, kweh! _ ” Softbeak trilled in reply, Sylbrael chuckled as she hung the equipment over the wooden rail. She barely noticed the Captain and Nasrinne’s approach, they were both so light on their feet. But the unfamiliar voice of the Ishgardian woman rang out behind her.

Sylbrael watched as the chocobo came to rest its head gently on the elezen’s shoulder as she pet it. 

“Don’t worry about tying her off. She’ll just undo the knot anyway. She doesn’t like to be stuck to things.” It reminded the chocobo of Dalamud, and being penned in while the moon crashed toward the earth. But Nasrinne wasn’t fool enough to say that to Arnor or the Roe. She’d heard enough people tell her a chocobo’s memory didn’t extend back that far. 

“As long as she aint got a sticky beak and go pokin round our supplies, Softbeak will stay unchained.” Arnor clicked at Sylbrael to make sure she was listening, she was acting kind of odd. Well, odder than usual. “Won’t be no good if half our rations are gone one month out to sea, savvy?” All they’d be left with was one big fat bird, which might get them to Shirogane, but he’d be dealing with one upset Lady of House Filois. 

“Softbeak has more than enough experience with rations. Don’t you?” She looked at her bird.

“ _ Kweeeh. _ ” Said Softbeak.

“See?” Nasrinne said to Arnor, as if this exchange would somehow settle any concerns.

Nasrinne picked up the rucksack, containing the entirety of her worldly possessions, in one hand. 

“Oh, no, no. I will take this.” Sylbrael said, two hands clamping firmly around the light canvas before Nasrinne could sling it over her shoulder. “Captain Tabor tell me to do this thing, I do it.” She gave her a smile, “No worries, I don’t look inside.” 

Truly, what Sylbrael wanted to do was stand around and eavesdrop on whatever Nasrinne and Arnor were talking about. But the Captain was not likely to look kindly on her loitering on the off chance of hearing some  _ real-life Ishgard stories _ .

Arnor looked to Nasrinne, then down at the Roe’s hands holding the leather straps. Tightly. Then back to Nasrinne. 

“It’s not my bag. If ye want ta, Brae.” He shrugged his shoulders, his brows slightly furrowed as he looked at Sylbrael and slowly shook his head in confusion then looked back at Nas. “ ‘Spose you’d be used to havin’ someone to tote yer crap around, eh?” He chortled.

“I served almost five turns as a House Knight in the Dragonsong War, did you know that?” She phrased it like a question, even though she knew he couldn’t have known. But there was another meaning beneath.  _ Don’t presume you know who I am, Arnor Tabor _ , it said. 

He continued laughing heartily until the sweet smell of dodo meat and onions began to fill the air around them. Arnor’s mouth started to water slightly. “Smells like chow is on the ready.  **_Quartermaster_ ** get this bird fed.” Came the order without even looking at the Roe. He gestured Nasrinne follow him. “Come Naz I'll get the crew to send off then we can get some food in yer belly, hopefully it won't end up all over the deck.” His laugh ringing out from the stairwell as he went back up. 

Nasrinne rolled her eyes at his back, then turned to give Sylbrael a warm smile. Probably the warmest that had graced her lips yet.   
“I’m sure a First Mate has better things to do than lug my meager luggage a few yalms.” 

The Roe relinquished her grip on the bag, with a lackadaisical shrug.   
“Okay, okay. But careful, don’t be tripping.” She cautioned, watching Nasrinne wobble slightly at the fractional shift in weight. 

“It’ll be good practice.” She said to Sylbrael wryly.

“Women can being knight in Ishgard?” Sylbrael was unable to keep herself from asking, looking over her shoulder toward Nasrinne as she began emptying a sack of mixed greens into the half-barrel that was making do as a feeding trough. 

“Anyone stupid enough to want to swing a sword or shoot a bow until they die can become a knight.” Nasrinne gave a mirthless snort, but the Roe’s laughter contained genuine amusement. 

“The very stupidest want to wield a lance and be a knight. They die the quickest, usually.” She gave Sylbrael a wink as she turned to follow Arnor back up the stairs.

“You don’t speak in circles. I like this.” She called after her, folding the burlap bag and tucking it away in a nearby storage crate before heading back up to help with send off before dinner. 

As she looped the thick ropes that hauled up the anchors, she wondered if Naz would mind answering questions about Ishgard. Especially about noble ladies, and fainting. (Naz didn’t seem like she would faint if someone drew a sword. What good would that be if you were a knight?) Also about snow, and how cold it was. She decided she would broach these questions, if the opportunity arose.

Dinner was tasty, but Nasrinne couldn’t eat much. Aside from feeling slightly queasy from the rocking and rolling, she didn’t really have an appetite. Dinner would have likely felt terribly lonely if it weren’t for the Roe, Brae, who had been politely peppering her with questions. What was snow like, did ladies faint in Ishgard often, was it because it was so high in the mountains and the air was thin? Being a normally curious person herself, Nasrinne was more than amenable to answering them. 

“You’re awfully interested in Ishgard.” She said to her with a bemused scoff, “Trust me when I tell you, it’s a rotten place underneath all the lace and the dancing.”

“Everywhere is rotten place underneath,” Sylbrael laughed as she shovelled a forkful of mashed popoto into her mouth. 

Nasrinne decided she liked the Quartermaster. 


	9. Chapter 9

**_The High Verdict; Open Seas_ **

The High Verdict had already set off by the time they reached the mess. There was a bit of rabbling and horseplay as the crew bustled about the mess tables, lining up with their bowls to grab a portion of the questionable looking (but tasty) stew. Of course, the captain, the Lady of the house and quartermaster all had their food served up before they had even been seated. Despite the laughter and a few rolls thrown here and there, Arnor only had to throw a few hard glares about the table to get things to settle. As requested, the crew were mostly on their best behaviour. None of them had addressed Nasrinne directly yet, perhaps they were too scared after the captain's warning. if any words were spoken of her they were being done out of earshot of the captain and herself).

He munched away on a mouthful of stew, a little running from the side of his mouth as he raised an eyebrow at Sylbrael. A raised eyebrow that asked if this line of questioning was going to become a problem. “Aye, not many places keep their shine when ye start digging.” As he dug into the mash and stew, hefting an all too large spoonful into his still salivating mouth. He pointed his spoon at Nasrinne while speaking with his mouth still half full. “Eat up, yer gonna have a rough 3 months if yer turning nose at the good stuff.” He eyed the woman carefully, it was more than sea-sickness that bothered her but he wasn't one to push for information, until his curiosity would eventually get the better of him. 

It had only been two weeks since The High Verdict had cast off. Aldenard was just a spec on the horizon. Already, by this point in the trip Arnor had become mostly nocturnal. The moon was high in the sky as he looked out to the horizon at the stars as one of the rigging ropes snapped tight. “Even keel! the hoist be chock-a-block. Get yer arse over there, Garrick!” he bellowed his order over the deck to one of the crew, an older Hyur who quickly scampered over to fix the blockage.

He turned to the Quartermaster who stood at his side. “We be making good headway on that lost time eh, Brae?” He grinned broadly. It had been rough weather the last few nights which had made navigating tough. Waves rode high and winds had been blowing them inland and off course most nights. The clouds had been thick and done an excellent job of blocking the stars but luckily they were so early into the trip, land and the odd lighthouse were in view to navigate by. Because of the headwinds, they had lost at least a half-day of progress, which Arnor was now doing his best to make up for. 

Sylbrael stuck an index finger in between her lips and held it against the wind. This was unnecessary, but she had read about sailors doing this and so she liked to do it.   
“Wind is good!” She replied cheerfully, “We get few hours back tonight maybe, yes.” She agreed, wiping her finger on the side of her vest. Her shadowy eyes turned upward toward the darkness of the heavens, tracing their way through the constellations dotted above. Running over each mentally until finally she raised her hand, pointing toward one of them.

Arnor shook his head. He’d told her a hundred times that she could just take a look at the flag upon the top of the mast to check the wind direction. Telling her again wouldn’t help. He just let out an amused grunt. “Easy done as long as she keeps bearing and pace.” 

“This one, Arrow, yes?” She asked him, pointing to the six blinking dots of cyan. She had been practicing a bit of skywatching with the Navigator. She thought she was getting pretty good at it herself, but she wasn’t about to go boasting because she still couldn’t tell apart the Spear and the Balance very well. But still, she thought ten out of twelve was pretty good. 

He followed her gaze up to the stars “Good eye, Brae.” He cast his eyes back down at the Roe as he gave the compliment. “I knew Stryn had been showin ya the ropes but yer picking it up quick.” He tried not to sound surprised. Not because of Brae, but because the ship's Navigator was usually a drunk and drunks don’t make for great teachers. Styrnoeya, the navigator of the High Verdict was another Roedagyn. Who was probably somewhere at the moment below deck sneakily swigging on a bottle of something strong.

Nasrinne listened patiently from where she lingered in the stairwell that led up to the deck. Truthfully, she hadn’t spent a lot of time on deck. It was awfully depressing watching everything she had ever known in the whole world shrinking smaller and smaller until it was nothing more than a rough, black smudge on the horizon. 

When they had begun their journey, a fortnight prior, there had been a _smallish_ keg of Radz-at-Han Reserve in her room which she had been kindly told to help herself to.   
And she had. In fact, she’d helped herself to it so much she’d run out. But Arnor was a pirate, so of course, he’d have more rum. She just had to ask about it.

Eventually, the Captain ceased barking his nonsensical words at people, and she assumed this would be as good a time as any.

“Hello Arnor, Brae.” She said quite cordially as she approached from behind the pair. “I wanted to ask about the rum in my room.” 

Sylbrael very nearly jumped at the unexpected sound of the Elezen’s voice. How was she so quiet all the time? 

Arnor turned to greet their benefactor with surprise.   
“Nas! Bloomin hells. Didn’t nae ever tell ya to not sneak up on a man like that.” He looked her over carefully, It had been two weeks and he hadn’t pushed for any information on their swift exit from Aldenard, even though he knew what might be snapping at their heels. The wind billowing around them and the rushing of the waves crashing on the bow of the ship filled the air. “Are ye alright? We be makin’ up for lost time if that’s what yer worried for, lass.” He spoke with what he hoped was a good-natured and understanding tone. 

Nasrinne glanced down at her boots with a conciliatory expression, as if it were the boots she were apologising to.   
“Sorry,” She shrugged as she raised her eyes to face them both, “You don’t really last very long as a ranger for the Holy See if you go gallumping everywhere, old habits die hard.” A finger scratching at the tip of her ear as he said something or other about lost time. What a silly expression. You couldn’t _lose_ time. It was still there, whether you’d made use of it or not.

It seemed odd to Arnor she would be apologising. “Nar I clearly ain’t been givin you enough credence.” He shot her a cock-sided smile as he pondered how deep he had put his foot in it this time. 

“I tend to try and keep people from giving me any credence, honestly. You can do a lot more when people think you can’t do anything.” Nasrinne said, returning the Roegadyn’s gaze. Watching the other woman with the sort of detached confusion one has when witnessing something odd while being five fingers of rum under.

“This good point.” Sylbrael nodded in agreement with her.  
  
“Anyway, I’m not worried about the time.” Nasrinne gave a slight shake of her head, “I wanted to ask about the rum in my room.” She repeated. “I’ve run out of it. Where do you keep the rest of it?”

Sylbrael’s eyebrows rose slightly,

“You run out of rum?” She asked, glancing Nasrinne up and down from top to bottom, openly puzzling over whether or not to believe the waif of a thing had finished a whole keg of Radz-at-Han.   
“I think maybe they write ladies in Ishgard stories wrong.” She whispered to Arnor beneath her breath.

The Rum? Sylbrael asked the question that was at his lips before he even had the chance.   
“Guess yer stories are a load of codswallop.” He laughed, not even bothering to lower his voice. He extended a hand toward Nasrinne as if he was presenting her to Brae. “This is a _real_ Ishgardian woman.” Slowly his laughter settled down.

A _real_ Ishgardian woman, the Captain said. She had to concede she was far more real than words in a book. But did noble ladies in Ishgard really wear flat boots with leather pants, and have long conversations with their chocobo, and drink a half a keg of rum a week? If that was the case, real Ishgardian noble ladies were a lot more like pirates than she had ever imagined they would be.

“Well, I suppose technically I’m a Coerthan because I was born in Riversmeet.” She explained, beneath the cackling from Arnor.  
Thankfully he shortly gave her the answer she’d been seeking,

Arnor scratched at the scar above his top lip, the stubble had grown a good half inch since they had set off and it had been far too rough weather for a shave. “Aye. There’s plentya rum to go round.” As long as she didn’t keep drinking like a fish. 

“Excellent, where might I find it?” 

“I thought it best we be giving you time ta settle afore diving into the nitty gritty ov why ya had us whisk you away.” He placed a hand on the bulwark as he stepped closer to Nas. “But seemin as ya drowned an entire cask o rum.” He tried to hide the disbelief from his face. That exact cask would have taken him at least a month to finish. “I was thinkin there might be some things we should spin a yarn about.”  
  
Her pleasant smile that faltered and faded as he proceeded along his next line of questioning.   
“Alright.” She said, clearing her throat slightly behind her hand. “Rum first, though.” This was not a negotiable condition. 

Arnor crowed again at Nasrinnes reply.   
“Rum first. Then talk.” He took his hand from the bulwark and pressed his knuckled fist into his other palm which let out a few sharp pops as the joints slipped back. A quick look was cast toward where the scraggly Hyur had just finished clearing the hoist blockage,   
“Garrick when ye done pissin about get yer arse down to the hold and scrounge up ano’ cask of tha Radz-at-Han and bring it ta the wardroom fer our fine patron ‘ere.” He quickly turned back to Brae and Nasrinne. “Carn lets head ta the ward fer a little tête-à-tête” his enunciation perfect for such shameless looking individual.

“Vis-à-vis.” Nasrinne replied, clearly satisfied after hearing more liquor would be on the way. She glanced toward Sylbrael again, “What about you? You want to hear a real Ishgard story?” She asked her dryly.

“This word, one with lots of te’s.” The Roe squinted at the two of them, “Sound like word for sweets. This word, with many vz, sound like dance girls do in Ul’dah.” Then she gave a little shrug of her shoulders, “Happy to hear Ishgard stories though.”   
Sylbrael had a lot of feelings about the question Nasrinne had asked her. On the one hand, she was a little chuffed that Nasrinne liked her enough to let her sit in on this real Ishgard story she was going to tell the Captain.   
On the other hand, there was something about the way she said the words. Sylbrael got the feeling that she would not like this Ishgard story as much as the one’s she had read in Baron Rougecarpe’s library. 

The High Verdict cruised quickly and quietly through the calm seas. It was only one level down to the wardroom, Arnor had quickly settled himself around a round, hardwood table with iron wrought edging and four high-backed chairs placed evenly around.   
“I dunno bout you. Brae. But I’m ready to hear sum ‘ov these _Real-Life Ishgard stories.”_ A genuine look of glee grew on his face. Not long after Garrick burst through the door carrying a cask. “Aye capn where ya want me ta set it down?” he seemed to be struggling a little as he squeaked out the question, his voice wavering slightly.

Arnor hummed for a moment. You wouldn’t be sure if he was taking amusement in Garrick’s struggle or he genuinely couldn’t decide. After what seemed an eternity to Garrick but was probably only thirty seconds, Arnor pointed to the table right in front of him. “ _Here_ be fine lad.” He placed a finger on the table. “Three glasses, three fingers then out. A’fore ya find yerself three feet overboard.” he jested but by the speed Garrick got to grabbing the glasses from a nearby crate, it seemed the newest recruit was not willing to risk testing it. 

Sylbrael sat herself down in the chair next to Arnor, lost enough in her own thoughts and anticipation to remain totally oblivious to poor Garrick’s struggle. 

Nasrinne sat herself down in the chair furthest from the door. Her elbow immediately dropping onto the table. She watched Garrick with a keen interest, right up until the point that he poured her a glass of rum and passed it to her across the table.  
“Many thanks.” She said, tipping it toward him and then Arnor and Brae before she raised it to her lips.   
Once the Wardroom door was closed, her glass was empty. She put it down in front of her with a thunk.   
“So, you want to know why you’re taking me to Shirogane?” She asked, sliding the glass back toward the keg while she looked him straight in his eyes. Knowing full well he wouldn’t argue about topping it up for her once she said what she was going to say next.

Arnor swirled his glass a few times as he watched the petite thing knock back the three fingers of rum like if it were water (not that he’d seen her drinking any water). The thunk of her glass on the table was just another among the cacophony of sounds that blared around the ship. “Aye. I do.” He relented happily, obliging her unspoken request. A fair price and with a shrug placed his own glass down and reached for hers.

“Remember Mad-Dog Memort?” She said it so innocently. _Oh. Remember this fellow?_ Nasrinne nodded toward her cup.

Sylbrael didn’t say anything. She knew that name. And, she had been right. This was not going to be a _good_ Ishgard story.

“Mad-Dog Memort?” The name sent a bit of a shiver down his spine, he probably would have packed up and set sail if Memort was on his tail too. A few seconds at the cask and Nasrinne’s glass was full of the amber liquid again and Arnor slung it back, sending it sliding smoothly across to the table and a gentle stop right before her.   
She caught it with one hand, bringing it up to her lips for a large gulp.

“I put my botany knife through his eye. Then I burned down his brothel.”   
  
Her next words really brought home the gravity of who he was dealing with here.

He stared at her for a good few seconds. Luckily, he wasn’t still holding any glass as he may have dropped it. He exploded into a roar of laughter and doubled over, one hand over his gut and the other slapping his leg. The captain wasn’t sure why he found it so hilarious, this innocuous looking thing had taken down the Mad-Dog and burned down the Purse. After he composed himself he sat back down and took a good two fingers from his own glass. “My that be a good un to cut rope.” Wiping a tear away from his eye, suddenly realising what that meant. “What about yer beau? With the foppy hair. He got imself a safehaven?” He furrowed his brow with what could have been worry or something else, remembering how _intricate_ his involvement with Memort and his employers was. 

Sylbrael hadn’t touched her rum. She didn’t really like it too much. It burned her throat and smelled like fire as well. But now, she thought she could see the lure in it. The room had felt very still for a heartbeat after Nasrinne had admitted to killing a man. No frills about it. Like the way she dressed. If you were going to speak so cooly about killing a man, you probably wanted to be drinking something that burned your throat and smelled like fire.   
She stayed tight-lipped as Arnor laughed and Nasrinne picked up her glass. Not wanting to interrupt, but also, not knowing what she would say anyway.   
Baron Rougecarpe had never liked this man, Memort. He was troublesome, she remembered. 

Nasrinne wasn’t laughing, although she didn’t begrudge Arnor his reaction. Instead she took another sip from her glass, more measured this time. Then she leaned back in her chair, cradling the rum close to her breast. 

“I suppose that depends what you mean by safe haven. I’m sure the walls of the Dubois Manor are as safe as any other in the Pillars of Ishgard.” Her dark eyes flickering down toward her cup. “After all. I suppose if Artreux wanted to kill his son, he would have done it years ago.” She sighed, her legs folding over one another as she spoke to her Radz-at-Han. “I mean, as much as I would love you to imagine I just waltzed into the Purse, took my revenge on Memort, and skipped away from a blazing building… that wasn’t how it played out. And Pascalle… he.” She sighed again, looking back up at Arnor finally. “I know you think he’s a dandy moron. But he’s smarter than you think. Smart enough to keep my head still here on my shoulders anyway.” Nasrinne took another large swig of rum. Not quite emptying the glass, but nearly. “So. He made a plan.” She gestured grandly around the cabin, “And I shall stick to it, or drown at sea trying to.” 

The captain settled and kicked his legs out under the table, leaning forward while his hands rested comfortably in his lap as he listened attentively. “He stayed behind?” Arnor looked a little shocked, Pas was either very brave or very stupid. “I mighta been a tad harsh on tha lad.” His head tipped to the side as he conceded he may have judged Pascalle prematurely when they had last met. This was mostly since he’d heard a story or two of the Lord Dubois and his penchant for causing misery, what else was there to expect from one that commanded the likes of Adrax Memort?

His eyes narrowed, an excited smile grew on his lips. “Must be quite tha plot. Would ya been open ta divulging what yer plan may be?”   
  
“Who is Pazcal?” Sylbrael asked her, doing her best to try and understand by cramming what she could of Nasrinne’s rambling into the structure of the kinds of stories she was used to reading. “He is a knight who saves you?” 

Before he was _rudely_ interrupted by Sylbrael, he shot her a dirty look but relented to her curiosity and finished up the last of his own glass of rum. 

Nasrinne licked her lips, her gaze drifting to the Roe. When she parted them again, it was with a heavy sigh.  
“Pascalle was a knight, yes. But not anymore. And he hasn’t really saved me. He’s just bought me some time.” 

Sylbrael, choosing to ignore the daggers from Arnor, finally took a sip of her own drink. Her expression soured slightly as she swallowed. Naz and the Captain didn’t pull a face when they swallowed. But she didn’t see how that was possible. She wanted to know how they kept from doing it. But it was the wrong question for right now.

“What for time?” She asked instead.

Nasrinne leaned toward the keg, gesturing for Arnor to slide her his as she filled her own. 

“Pas intends to bring the Brotherhood down from the inside out. He’ll use the access his Father gives him to locate the weakest links in the chain and eliminate them. Either through financial ruin or, other less than savory means. Of course, he’ll need help with that. But he’s a charismatic enough fellow. I’m sure he can find someone who hates his Father at least half as much as he does to lend a hand.” 

Arnor placed his glass down and gently slid it to Nas, he could see how she had managed to work her way through the last cask so quickly. The one thing she might take solace in on this long journey. All this wretchedness, on the run from the Brotherhood and her family lost after getting mixed up with this knight. Had he really saved her? He was smart to keep his mouth quiet while he listened intently to the plan she and Pascalle had set in motion.

“There be plenty around that carry hate for ‘is ole man, I assure ye.” He reached forward for his now full glass. The rum found its way quickly to his lips while she continued.

“I’ll be in Shiro. Utilising the region's flora in some _experiments_. Memort wasn’t the only dog who knows a thing or two about plants, and as you yourself said, Arnor, I’m a clever little bitch.” She took a swig of her drink, 

“Yer a cunning one, aye ya both done me over good.” He raised his glass as she took a swig with a loud guffaw.

“Then he’ll come get me and we’ll poison Artreux de Dubois.” 

It really sounded quite neat when you put it like that, she thought. Especially considering they’d had less than a bell to come up with it.

The sip he had been taking expelled itself from his mouth in a spray.   
“Yer gonna take Artreux Dubois outta the game?!” his head was spinning with the consequences, the potential gains and what Nasrinne had left to lose. “Hells that’s a hullva plan, exactly how good with plants are ya?” He felt as though he needed to wipe the sweat from his brow as he turned back to what was left of the golden liquid in his glass.   
  
Nasrinne watched, a faint glimmer of amusement on her face as Arnor spat his rum out all over the table.   
Sylbrael nodded to herself at this reaction. She had wanted to do something similar on her first sip. He had done well to already have one whole glass and try another. She might tell him that later. Not in front of Naz though. Especially not when she seemed to like it so much.

“What else should I do? Let him get away with everything he’s done and sit myself pretty in Shirogane waiting for some Hingan man to marry?” Nasrinne replied to Arnor, “And how good? Good enough to puzzle through your shitty _Garlean Pincer_ before it knocked me out.” 

“You give Lady Nazrin Garlean Pincer?” Sylbrael looked shocked. “This not good drink to give person who is boss, Captain.” She told him solemnly. “But,” She offered him a lifeline, “Maybe taste a little nicer than Radz-at-Han. Yes” It was a good lifeline, she thought.

Nasrinne tried to stifle her laughter with another sip of rum. Pleased that the Roe had taken the edge off his question. The truth was, she had no real measure of how good she was with plants. She’d never joined a guild. She’d never really done any _formal_ training. But, she just had a knack with them. Especially their… _alternative_ uses. She pursed her lips, studying Arnor over the rim of the glass.

“Tell me, Arnor...” She began slowly, “How much do _you_ hate Dubois and the Brotherhood? How much do you hate Memort’s nephew, Dione?” It was obvious where these questions were leading. “If it’s the right amount… who knows, perhaps you and Pascalle can be of some _use_ to each other.” She gave a casual little shrug.

\---

Days had turned into weeks, and weeks were turning into months. There was barely anything to look at save the wide, blue horizon and the deck of the ship. 

Nasrinne lay upon the quarterdeck, the billowing sail of the mizzenmast shading the worst of the mid-afternoon sun. Softbeak cooed and kweh’d softly, enjoying the ruffle of her feather’s in the breeze. 

Nasrinne smiled at her chocobo, nestled happily against the thick wooden beam ascending up to the heavens.  
“You’re right. It’s a nice day to be on the sea.” 

“You being talk to your Softbeak again, Lady Naz.” Sylbrael said with a broad grin as she stepped up onto the deck beside her. “She being talk back?”

“Always.” Nasrinne replied, sitting up with a wide smile of her own. Softbeak trilled a greeting out to the Quartermaster. “She just said Hello.”

“Hello, Softbeak.” The Roegadyn reached out as she sat down beside them, giving the ruff of pale yellow feathers a scratch. Sylbrael was something of a conundrum to Nasrinne. But she found she quite liked her. She was huge. Bigger than Pascalle maybe, or at least close to it. And her wide eyes were an almost unsettling colour too; like the brackish waves that lapped at their keel in the twilight.

But there was a softness about her. Her short, windswept hair conjured up visions of the gentle early morning spay, and her smile was always easy and warm. Plus, she shortened her name with that same hard inflection that her brother had always used. It was nice to hear it, even if the voice was far, far removed from the sound of Jhulayne’s. She bit back the doleful frown that threatened to creep onto her lips.

“It is half-way day today.” She turned to Nasrinne, still smiling.

“Half way already?” Nasrinne replied, “Well, I’m glad to hear we’re making progress. I couldn’t tell you how long it’s been since we last saw a strip of habitable land.” She chuckled.

“Then it is good thing.” Sylbrael told her earnestly, “You not keep counting any more. Then you drink less. Captain being less bothered about Radz-at-Han being run out.”

Nasrinne swallowed her embarrassment at this very-near heartfelt sentiment. However clumsily it was expressed.

“No, I’m not counting anymore.” She nodded, a faint sigh slipping from her lips. “After a while, when you realise you don’t know how long you’ll be counting for… it feels a bit silly.”

“No need to count.” Sylbrael told her, “Better forget time, just do things you want do. Time pass anyway.”

She laughed again, the more time she spent around Arnor and Sylbrael, the more she appreciated their lack of decorum. She couldn’t imagine anyone back home in Ishgard telling her to just do what she wanted. At least, not now Jhulayne wasn’t there anymore.

“I’m not really sure I can do the things I want to do.” Her tone sounded darker than she had intended it to. It was impossible for it not to. The moment she remembered everything that had been taken from her…

“Things you being want to do… killing Brotherhood fruit man in Ishgard.”

“Fruit man?”

Sylbrael raised a finger,  
“Fruit men, this means slave men, money men. Making Brotherhood rich being their job.” 

“Bearer of the Fruit…” Nasrinne repeated, remembering the words she’d read in the secret room in Ul’dah.

“Yes. Then being quill men.” She raised a second finger then, “These important men, _po-li-ti-shuns_ and them.” Another finger. “And last, Tithe men. Dione is tithe man.”

“You know Dione?” 

Sylbrael shook her head.  
“Know name only. Captain being tell me.” She explained. “But, tithe men, I not be speaking to ever. Because tithe men not sent for speaking. Tithe men being sent for making people pay. Sometimes price is poison, sometimes price is blade. But payment at end, always life.” 

She didn’t have to ask the Roe how she knew all of this.  
“Arnor told me you used to work for Baron Rougecarpe.” Nasrinne said softly, “I’m sorry… We weren’t able to help him.”

Sylbrael shrugged, looking out over the water for a moment.  
“Not your job to being help him.” Then she turned back with one of those easy smiles.

“You say you being poisoner. Brotherhood good at this. Know many poisons. Recognise tastes, smells, colours... Hard to being beat people at own game.”

“I know. I need something that works as good as their _bitter blue_.” She slumped backward, flat onto the deck once more. “But I won’t be getting my hands on any Coerthan foxglove seeds for a good spell. Mintori has to find a way to source them… and then they take time to grow…”

“Captain he tell me you being good with plants. Smart. Know lots about them, because you being know so much, help him save his wine. He being like you for that.”

Nasrinne snorted,  
“I’m sure he likes me more for making him a Lord.”

“Maybe.” Sylbrael chuckled, “But he being like you anyway. He being from there you know.” She pointed out ahead in the direction they were sailing.

“What? Othard?” 

“Maybe you being ask him where to go look for plant like one you want, but different still.”

“A similar plant in Othard…” Nasrinne drew a sharp breath through her nose, excitement rising in her chest. “That’s quite brilliant, First-Mate Brae.” She said, pushing herself up again.“I might do just that.”

“See, can being do things you want. Or, being start to do them anyway.” 

\---

##  Letters to the Motherland I

_ To my sweet sparrow _ ,

I hope this letter arrives to your hand safely, and with it some fair winds from Shirogane.

We arrive in the little port tomorrow. Arnor’s sloop is sleek enough to manage the reefs, so I won’t need to take the ferry from Kugane. 

I’ve wanted to write you a hundred times or more these past three moons. But what would have been the point, I wonder? Have Arnor deliver a short novella to you? Surely that would arouse some suspicion. 

So, I thought it best to wait until tonight. The last night on this ship. The High Verdict it’s called. See, if I had written you in the beginning I would have called it ‘this damned ship’ or ‘this infernal ship’. But, I’ve grown somewhat fond of it after all these days and nights with nothing else to look at but water and sky. I must admit, I’ve grown somewhat fond of our Lord of the Seas as well. And his Quartermaster. Sylbrael Bleiwyb. I’m sure you’ll meet her. She’s quiet, but canny. I think you’ll like her. 

I think you’ll like Arnor too, if you give him the chance. There is more to him than either of us suspected at first. He is undoubtedly a pirate. But there is honour among thieves, as the saying goes.

I’ve spoken to him a great deal about the Brotherhood since leaving Aldenard. Sylbrael too. She has some little pieces of the puzzle which I’m certain will prove useful to you. She was often in the company of our friend, the late Baron. 

I’ll let her and Arnor explain to you how they really fit into the whole piece. I’ll just selfishly ask you to trust them, after all if they get this letter to you it should show you they’re as good as their words.

It’s probably useless saying this to you, but, don’t worry about me. 

I’ll be alright. I’m not the one who’s going to be living in the lion’s den, antagonizing the lions. 

But you. Oh, I’ll worry about you. Don’t be reckless, and hold your heart close to your chest, my sweet and righteous knight. 

Sometimes I think perhaps I should pray to Halone to swap our places, for I fear your soul to be too wholesome for the work you are setting about. And I would wish you unburdened by any more sorrow than you’ve already had to carry. Would that I could dirty my hands for you, they are already quite stained of their own accord after all. But praying is useless, as we both well know. And I have my own tasks to attend to, here across the sea. And attend to them I will. Of that you can rest easy. 

You will never be far from my thoughts while I wake, and each night I will seek you out in my dreams,

_ Nightingale _


	10. Chapter 10

**_The Pillars; Ishgard_ **

“ _ Finally _ .” Artreux barely cast a glance towards his son as he entered going back to thumbing through a document file on his lap. The elder Dubois was sitting comfortably facing toward the door in a cushioned armchair, one leg over the other with a thick fogweed cigar dangling lazily from his fingers. Pascalle began to shut the windowed doors behind him, obviously not fast enough for his father.

“What are you, a cripple? Hurry it along, we have a  _ strict _ schedule. And draw the curtains.” He barked, eyes finally raising from the papers in front of him.

“If you'd be kind enough to let me know more than a half bell before you wanted to meet _ ,  _ father. I’d be more than happy to meet your strict schedules.” Pascalle’s sharp yet faintly disdainful manner stirred Artreux’s quick temper as he casually took the seat opposite, sinking into the plush cushions of the expensive looking chair. “Are these new?” he asked, the corner of his lip rising slightly.

“I’ll not have you disrespect me in my own house, boy.” Artreux tossed the file over to Pas, landing in his lap. 

“What’s this?” he asked as he flipped it right way up and opened it.

Artreux smiled malevolently.    
“A code of silence has been issued.” Pascalle’s eyes raked over the documents as Artreux’s own gaze rested sardonically on him.

“Reynaud Veilleux?” He read the name aloud and his heart sank. If he felt anything at this moment Pascalle didn’t show it as he continued to thumb through the pages, not daring to meet his father’s gaze. Reynaud, Jhulayne and he had served together, in all he was a good, kind person. It seemed Reynaud had found his way into politics and had been pushing  _ all _ the wrong buttons. Pascalle knew what this meant, it was a test of his loyalty and there was no point denying his past relationship with Reynaud. And Artreux was  _ enjoying  _ every second of it.

“You think me not capable of executing your orders?” Pascalle scoffed as he swiftly shut the file, sliding it into the gap between the seat cushions.

“I have my doubts…” Artreux took a long drag from his cigar, exhaling a huge cloud of smoke between them. “That’s why I’ll have someone accompany you, Peony. Come come out and introduce yourself.” As the smoke dissipated it revealed Artreux's smiling face. “She’s a lovely  _ and  _ talented woman _ ,  _ well. For one of  _ lesser race _ anyway.” 

Peony’s smile was flat as Artreux introduced her. It didn’t reach her cold, green eyes at all.   
“Thank you for the compliment, Viscount.” She said, winding her way around the desk to stand in front of it alongside Pascalle.

“You are to follow any instructions that Peony gives you regarding the Veilleux bastard. Is that  _ clear _ , Pascalle?” 

“The infamous prodigal son.” She looked him over, the hint of a vicious smirk playing about the corners of her lips. “I’m sure as long as he does as he’s told, we’ll get along just fine.” 

Pascalle rolled his eyes at the woman while gathering his coat. This was going to be painful.

“On your orders, Father.” He bowed quickly at the fat old bastard as he smoked away in his chair. Striding away quickly ahead of Peony, wanting to be anywhere but in that room for a moment longer. Thoughts he would surely come to regret. 

In truth, the job was a simple one. That was the beauty of the Brotherhood's poison when it was ingested. It’s penultimate effects seemed mild enough to ignore. Then the truth of what it was made to do manifested at the moment it was far too late for the healer’s to do anything. And the culprits by then, long gone or with plausible alibis.

They strolled to the Scholasticate, flakes of snow dusting their shoulders. She walked uncomfortably close to him. On purpose, of course. This was partly because she needed to slip him the poison, and partly  _ because _ she knew it made him uncomfortable.

He wished to his core he could just tune her and he nasty voice out but there was a job to be done, even so. Every time she inched closer to him as they walked, her hand resting upon him, brushing the snow from his jacket he would let her.

“Your job is to get Veilleux to invite us back to his place for mulled wine or some such.” 

“If that’s all we’ll be at his place within the next few bells. The second the man sees me he shan't waste a moment in asking for a drop.” 

The sandy-haired hyur smirked as she produced a pair of vials from her pocket, letting them roll and clink together in her palm. Her hand twisted, hiding them from the view of onlookers. “How’s your slight of hand?” There was a slight affectation to her speech that didn’t sound wholly Ishgardian. “You know,” Her voice dropped to a snarky whisper as she leaned closer to him, “Daddy says that you’ve got a thing for common girls.” Tucking the vials into his coat with a spiteful smile. “Well, I’m not a noble but you’re not my type. Too pretty” She tapped his pocket twice. “We gave you two, in case one breaks. So don’t try that trick.” 

Peony gave him a smirk. Clearly, she was enjoying having someone to push around. 

She finally got the reaction she had been fishing for as she slipped him the vials, whispering into his ear at the same time. He fought the urge to instinctively jerk away when she patted his pocket, pulling his jacket closed as they continued their stride forward. His azure eyes locked on hers as they walked. He wanted to scream at her but he didn’t. He shook his head from side to side.    
“There’s nothing common about the women a man such as myself would choose to love.” He put on the smuggest smile he could muster, really trying to take on the mantle of the prodigal son as he went on. “Besides, I’ve bedded many women in my time, it’s just the real common ones like yourself that are easy to control my dear. Father should know this. With all of the trouble Mother has put him through. Though you do flatter yourself.” Chuckling between his words. “I wouldn’t bed a hussy as poor as yourself should my life depend on it.”

Peony’s nose crinkled at his curt words, a gleam of something in her eyes. Did that wound her? Or was it something else.   
“I’ve already heard  _ all _ about the women you  _ love _ .” She gave a gentle scoff. “First there was the tailor’s daughter. Now it’s the chocobo pauper.” She flashed her teeth at him. “At first glance it might not seem like you have a type. But you  _ do _ .” Peony gave a breathy laughter, tucking the strands of her short hair behind her ear, “And I know what it is.” She thrust her hands into her coat pockets again, pretending to look ahead, but watching him with a sly sidelong glance. “You like rich girls who aren’t stuffy. Not nobles. Although that last one, she was at least  _ pretending _ at nobility. It’s a pity your Father isn’t one to compromise.” She plastered her face with faux-sympathy as she looked up at him. Before snorting, ungraciously. Not in that dainty, accidental way that Nasrinne did it. With a cruel bluster. 

“Yes I'm certain you know  _ all  _ of the intricacies of my relationships.” He mused sarcastically.

“So how do you win their hearts? Ply them with fancy gifts isn’t it?” She continued, “It was a nice locket for the tailor’s daughter wasn’t it? I’m sure that was what your Father said when he explained your sentimental streak.” Her lips were curved into a sneer as she spoke, turning her eyes to face the steps ahead, “What about the chocobo pauper? Star sapphire circlets and pretty earrings?”

“What’s the matter, have you not had a man dote on you before?” Pascalle laughed outright at the woman, he knew she was trying to bait him. “Would  _ you _ like some pretty earrings, 

Peony?” “Goodness no, not from you. Not if they’re anything like the trash your whore wears. Moonstones? I think you can find them in any creek in Coerthas.”

“Far be it from  _ someone as yourself t _ o understand something common could hold value.” He snapped at her, He could picture the same earrings dangling from the lobes of Nasrinne’s ears, framed by her raven hair.    
“Here I was thinking I might need to worry about you, Peony.” He advanced at a half-step faster than he had been, long legs striding forward, hand reaching into his pocket to feel both vials clinking about. At least there was a silver lining to this situation, this sap had just handed over an extra dose of the poison he had been trying to get his hands on for weeks. 

“You should worry about me.” Peony’s reply was as crisp as the frosty air that surrounded them. “You’re just  _ believing _ everything your Father tells you.” She smirked, “There are plenty more members of the Brotherhood with their eyes on your pretty raven-haired bard than either of you realise. And your Father’s reports are scant on the details.  _ Dione’s _ on the other hand… well, let’s just say he has a vested interest in keeping a close watch on the Filois bitch.” 

_ You should worry about me.  _ The words that came from her were pointed and it was difficult not to feel the anger rising in his chest. Whether it was a lie or not, the thought of others in the brotherhood, (especially Dione) watching Nasrinne as closely as she said set him on edge.    
“And you would willingly admit to withholding pertinent information? Dione’s reports mean nothing.” He tried his best to deflect.“ _ Nothing _ .” Repeating the word as they reached the Scholasticate doors.  _ Nasrinne and her moonstone earrings are far away from here. _ He reminded himself as he pushed against the banded wood.

“ _ Maybe _ . But you’d be wise to speak kinder to me, if you ever want to hear what’s in those. Daddy won’t share them with you” She gave a teasing waggle of her finger.

He held the door open for her with an exaggerated bow.    
“ _ Please.  _ After  _ you.”  _ His tone was obviously mocking.

“Such good manners.” She taunted, “Now then, where’s your rube friend?” 

_ That rube means more to me than you ever will and I’m was about to murder him.  _ He wanted to tell her.  _ What do you think that means for you _ ? But he held his tongue. Fuming inwardly as he scanned the room for his old comrade.

\---

“What have you been doing all afternoon? Your Mother says you’ve been painting or such.” The question was all but barked as soon as Pascalle had stepped into the room. 

“Yes father, as there was nothing pressing to attend to I decided to take the afternoon for myself, I thought it was acceptable.” He shut the door quietly behind him.

Artreux stood at his windows looking out, his thick-fingered hands clasped behind him at the small of his back. “Veilleux is dead, as of the sixth-bell.” He told him without a hint of remorse.

Pascalle had not heard the sixth bell. In fact, he had not heard the fifth, or the fourth. Having been tucked away in his room, his pain and hope for the future embodied in his painting, and secret message for Nasrinne. 

“You did well,  _ this time _ .” 

This would be the about the best praise he could expect from Artreux, he swallowed the lump in his throat and steadied his voice.    
“As I’ve said before. You’ve no reason to doubt me, father.”

The single snifter of brandy on the desk glinted beneath the light of the handsome candelabras. It was on Artreux’s side of the desk.    
“Pour yourself a glass if you want.” He said to his son, still half-watching the meandering of the nobles on the street below. 

His fingertips shook in the air as he reached for the carafe of amber liquid. He could tame it with his logic, or reason with himself to see it from another perspective. But did the ends justify the means? Veilleux was a  _ good  _ man and could have been a boon for Pascalle in his mission against the Brotherhood. Was he treading into territory that he could not come back from? He quickly poured himself a drink lest his father see the liquid sloshing about in his shaky hand. As he brought the warming amber liquid to his lips, he watched his father amble back over, fidgeting with his cuffs.His cool blue eyes, twin to Pascalle’s in shade. An undeniable proof of the connection of their blood. 

“But it has occurred to me, Pascalle, that you might have been harbouring a notion to bide your time and gain my trust, only to disobey me once my guard is down.”   
Artreux sat himself down in his chair, sliding open his desk drawer slowly and removing a crisp envelope from within it.   
“Peony told me she mentioned Dione’s reports to you. She said you got quite  _ fired _ up about your little chocobo pauper…” He tossed the envelope on the desk, letting it fall between the two of them. It hit the wood with a dull, metallic  _ clunk. _ “Read it, if you like.” He said, the faintest curve of a smile playing at the edges of his lips.

“What?” He just about spat out his drink, the look of anger on his face was palpable the moment he mentioned that woman’s name again. His eyes were drawn to the envelope as it surprisingly clanked onto the desk. “Peony? She openly admits to hiding information from you, she’s a snake father…” His voice lowered and he couldn’t take his eyes from the envelope, taking it and flipping open the fold to reveal a pair of moonstone earrings. Nasrinne’s earrings.

“What is the meaning of this?” His eyes flicked up to meet his fathers smirking face, Pas lifted a single earring from the envelope between his fingertips letting it dangle in the air between them. She  _ had _ left without them, hadn’t she? 

There could be no doubt that Arteux was toying with him. He didn’t show his emotions openly, well, besides his rage. But Artreux de Dubois was not angry at this moment. He was ecstatic. There was a subtle gleam in his eyes that Pascalle would know all too well.    
“Peony could be a good friend to you, if you weren’t so  _ stupid _ .” He said, “She is  _ gifted _ with the arts of the arcane. A red mage, from Gyr Abania originally.” He picked up his glass, “I saw her potential the moment our paths crossed. Although her most  _ enterprising _ endeavours began after I brought her here to Ishgard.” He seemed  _ almost _ proud as he spoke of her. Although perhaps more likely he was proud of the messes this Peony had cleaned up, and the money she had made him.Pascalle’s eyes locked on the stones set within the earrings, his eyes following the jewellery as it swayed back and forth. Artreux’s praise for that vile thug Peony might have stung him at one time in his life, as a boy it was the  _ only _ thing he wanted.

“Perhaps for a low-born.” Pascalle snidely threw his own fathers favourite insult back at him. Artreux had always seemed to revel in withholding any praise from him, a cruel joy he partook in at the expense of his son’s happiness. He could have brushed it all off so easily, but comparing that swine to  _ Nasrinne? _

“She possesses far more admirable qualities than that graceless and ungainly harridan.” He continued, his tone wholly deprecating, nodding toward Nasrinne’s earring, suspended there between his son’s thumb and forefinger. “Well, go on. Read his report then. See for yourself what happened.” Artreux lofted his brows, “And before you start barking to me about breaking my word to you, she was caught attempting to gain access to the city.”

_ Graceless and ungainly harridan?  _ He didn’t know the first thing there was to know about her. He could feel his face growing hot. His attention was drawn to the report protruding from the envelope. As Pascalle went to snatch the papers from the table his father mentioned something curious, he couldn’t help but look toward his father for a split second. “She was here?” He asked in an almost demanding tone as he read through the report.

Pascalle’s Father took a leisurely sip of his brandy, “I told you she wouldn’t be spared if she showed her face. And I can’t very well stop the boy from avenging his Uncle.”    
Dione of course was not a boy. He was Pascalle’s age at least. But this meant little to Atreux.   
“Out of my hands.” He sighed, growing bored with his gloating already. “Still, hopefully now you can start to put these childish infatuations behind you, once and for all.”

His temper faded, his father’s pointed words little more than chittering in his ears. All more reason to believe this a ruse. That this report and everything that was coming out of Artreux’s lips was a lie. There was no way Nasrinne could have been caught coming into the city, he had only just received word from her and her progress. This meant the Brotherhood, or at least Artreux had no knowledge of their plan. His heart was elated and the knot in his stomach withered away, but for now he had to at least put on a show.

Pascalle threw the report back onto the desk, snatching the other earring and slipping both into his pocket. “Yes, well seemingly it was out of your hands.” Pascalle let out a long breath, looking up to his father. “If she was caught at the gates, she broke the agreement.” He said solemnly, his eyes steeling as he continued. “But don’t expect I won’t have a bone to pick with Dione. I am your son after all.” He reached over and poured himself another glass, drinking half of it in one gulp before going on. “They should treat me with more respect, I am a Dubois whether  _ you _ like it or not.” 

Artreux watched with a veiled interest as Pascalle slid the earrings into his pocket. Offering little more than a soft hum of agreement at his acceptance of Nasrinne’s fate. For a moment he seemed content to sip at his own drink, watching the cold gaze his son fixed him with as he spoke.   
“You are my son, yes. But you are no son of the Brotherhood yet.” They could have almost been looking into a mirror, both faces hard as stone. “In that respect Dione is already far ahead of you. You will be treated with respect when you  _ earn _ it.” Then Artreux sneered, and the reflection distorted.   
“Now. Go back to your painting, or whatever sentimental nonsense you’re wasting your free time with. Just be ready for when I have need of you. You’re dismissed.” He gave him a callous wave of his hand, turning to face the bookcase, and whatever else was more important than Pascalle.

\---

As Pascalle’s hand moved over the canvas it was as if it had a mind of its own, directing itself with a precision so at odds with the storm of thoughts swirling about in his head. This was the way it was going to be for the foreseeable future. He had found himself quite easily falling back into the expectations Artreux had set for him, despite the pain it so readily caused.    
Renaud had been a good man, and no matter if he had done the deed himself or not. What good would have come from warning him? Knowing the brave prick, he wouldn’t have left anyway. All Pascalle could do now was honour his sacrifice, save others. Save Nasrinne.

He would need to keep up the façade. More than just his father’s eyes were laid upon him, and his every move.

Peering south from his perch at the edge of the city, looking toward Whitebrim's jagged cliffs, his hand moved the brush instinctively. His eyes trained upon the familiar ramparts of the building. One he’d seen many times as he’d cast his eyes out from the city walls. He looked down then. Measuring his progress; and there it was outlined on the canvas, exactly. He felt a bitter kinship with the building then. They were the same. Not much had changed for it over the years. Not dissimilar to how he had been thrown back into the dark world he had endured as a child. 

Except for the fact he had  _ willingly _ placed himself back under his father’s control after almost escaping it... 

The brush slipped on the canvas.    
“ _ Shit _ .” He cursed, sighing softly. 

Pascalle’s grip on the brush loosened. Having smudged where there should be no smudge threw off his whole rhythm. He worried that like the smudge on his canvas, his soul may be stained beyond repair…

_ Enough trifling sentimentality _ . He could hear Artreux bark above his mind’s metaphors. __

He could easily have turned into a different man, one not so hard to anger. Perhaps it would be nice to be that way. Never anxious, or fearful, never attached or lovesick. Always in complete control. But he couldn't wish it, not really. Though he could  _ act  _ it as long as need be, or so he told himself.

He looked upon his painting, then out toward the building in Whitebrim again. There were some changes, he realised. Subtle ones. After all, there were no tattered flags flying from the Fort’s walls anymore. The eastern buttresses had all been reinforced too. He could imagine how it would look an epoch from now. His brush captured that sun-filled visage. Finding a fantastical world in the mundane one before him. It was the same for him. The canvas was a reflection of his mind, the way he thought. But there was something else there too. Something he could not have comprehended or believed possible as a child. He  _ could _ stand up to Artreux, and his ilk. Their plan was  _ working. _

Pascalle smiled to himself as he wiped the paint from his brush, placing it gently into a small oak tray with its brothers. Being out here gave him a peace and clear head he could not find any other way in this frozen tomb of a city.

\---

**_The Bag and Flagon; The Mists_ **

It had only been a few hours since Pascalle and his  _ entourage _ had arrived in Limsa and in truth, it was an easy enough task to  _ lose _ the ‘ _ escort’  _ (essentially a handler, Aylwin. A stupid name for a stupid fellow,) sent alongside him by his father. ‘I’m to head out to tie up a _ few loose ends _ . Required a personal touch _ ’  _ he had told the disgruntled Hyur when they arrived at the safehouse, quickly slipping out while bags were being unpacked _.  _ Of course, Aylwin had followed not long behind him but a couple of minutes winding through the old stairways and corridors around Hawkers alley he’d managed to leave his tail none the wiser to his current whereabouts, (or at least he hoped.)  __

Pascalle’s hand rested on the rough paintwork that coated the door and pushed it open. The hinges squealed as if they were warning him not to enter, but the plea was soon silenced by a wall of noise.

He wound his way through the crowd toward the dimly lit bar, conversations swirled around him in a dirty cloud of smoke as he stepped forward _.  _ As careful as he had been there was still a knot in his stomach. ‘The Bag and Flagon’ had a nice ring to it but not having actually arrived at the location Arnor had suggested to meet, he was having second thoughts. Pas looked around at the disheveled group, mostly sailors and merchants coming to take a break from hawking their wares. Conversation buzzed about as the Bartender turned their attention to the Pas. “Aye Laddy, out tha back. An hurry wud ya? Stick out like a sore bloody thumb.” His last few words grumbled past his lips as he jerked a finger to an old door to the side of the bar counter.  _ Guess they’re already here then.  _ Pas quietly shrugged, looking back over his shoulder from where he had come in as he moved into the next room.

“Took ya bloody time then!” came a familiar cackle as the door quietly squeaked shut behind him. Sitting behind a bar that curved into the dark and barely lit room was the man he had come to meet, Arnor Tabor. Sat beside him was not a face Pas recognised by looks but from the description Nasrinne had given him, he knew it to be Arnor’s first mate, Sylbrael (Who admittedly was a lot taller than he had expected.) “Yer weren’t followed was ye?” the pirate cocked a brow toward the Elezen as he pulled over a stool. 

“Most assuredly. Though it won’t be a problem. I managed to give them the slip.” He wore a cocksure grin as sat down. “It was a long trip, what does one have to do to get a little hospitality around here?” Though his tone implied he was jesting, Arnor knew to quickly pour the man a glass. 

So this was the noble knight, Sylbrael thought to herself. He looked a lot more like the characters in the books than Naz had.   
“I will go and being see who is coming here, Captain...” Sylbrael would know the face of a Brotherhood man when she saw it. Not because she knew every man in the Brotherhood, but because she knew the  _ kind _ of man in the Brotherhood. She knew what to look for to mark them. After all, it didn’t matter if they were mean, soft or stupid. Every member of the Brotherhood wore his little mark.    
She gave Pascalle a bow of her head as she wound her way around the curve of the old bar, and back out into the common room of the tavern.

Quills, Apples and Coins. That’s all you had to look for really. They’d always have something on them that indicated their rank to other card-carrying members. It might be a design on their coat. A brooch on their vest. A pair of earrings. Some especially low-ranking members even had tattoos or brands. (Not fantastic when it came to seeming discrete, but cheap.)

She walked casually through the crowded bar, toward the door Pascalle had just pushed his way through moments before. Each step measured as her ears took in the din around her. Snatches of conversations about wages and cargo, call-girls and wives. Sylbrael stepped outside, meandering her way to the nearby corner and taking a leisurely look both ways. Taking in the garb and gait of passersby.    
It all seemed clean enough to her. Perhaps the cocksure grin of the knight was well-earned? Satisfied, she turned and made her way back inside, giving Arnor’s friend behind the main bar a nod before heading into the back room once more.   
“Looks good.” She told Arnor as she strolled back toward them.

Pascalle slowly swirled the light yellowish-brown liquid within his glass, eyes locked on the first mate as she sauntered past him. Raising the glass to his lips he took a cautionary sip. feeling the keen burn on his tongue and throat- a little worse than he was used to though he kept from grimacing as he placed the cup onto the table with a clunk.    
“Not Limsa’s finest batch, I would imagine.” He smiled, the aftertaste of the liquor still permeating on his taste buds. 

Arnor cackled heartily. “Used to tha finer things, my lord.” The pirate mocked him right back. “Sharpsong woulda had no problems with tha Bag’s bathtub gin.” Arnor tipped the whole glass down his gullet then quickly poured himself another. 

If it was gin then why was it yellow? Pas didn’t ask the question. 

“Regards to _ Lady _ Sharpsong.” He furrowed his brow at the pirate’s casual manner of calling, still a smile slowly crept it’s way across his lips. It was impossible to speak of Nasrinne without smiling. “Truthfully, I must agree. She certainly does have a fortitude of steel. Unfortunately, not a quality so present in myself.” He confessed, flashing a careworn smile.

“In tha clear?” Arnor fired his question to his Quartermaster.

Sylbrael gave a little cant of her head in reply, her eyes drifting toward his drink.   
“As clear as it ever be looking here.” Her lips peeled back into a broad smile, clearly amused by her little commentary on Arnor’s favourite haunt.   
She sat herself down upon one of the free stools, shaking her head as Arnor offered her a gin. 

“Not drinking on the job is an admirable quality, First Mate Sylbrael.” He nodded firmly to the Roedagyn as he was interrupted by Arnor’s annoyed voice.

“Just call ‘er Brae would ya?  _ Noble  _ lords and yer bloody titles.” Arnor scoffed rolling his eyes.

There was a hint of a cheeky smile on the Roegadyn’s lips as Arnor expressed his frustration at the  _ First Mate Brae _ refrain. It was a sorespot, mostly on account of its inaccuracy. But they always had First Mate’s aboard the dashing pirate vessels in Ishgard stories, so it was an inaccuracy Brae was determined to uphold.

“Well then, Brae and  _ Arnor _ .” He said, placing extra emphasis on the pirate’s given name. “I must thank you both for agreeing to meet on such short notice.” Pascalle made himself comfortable, leaning into the chair back and crossing one leg over the other, the leather tip of his shoe slowly dancing up and down. “The information you’ve been able to provide so far will be invaluable in the days to come, though I was wondering if you’ve both had time to make use of the latest information I dispatched?” His eyes darted between Arnor and Sylbrael. He was asking of the cove of course. A place Pas himself had not been able to visit as of yet. Even within the brotherhood there was limited access.

Sylbrael was the one who had scouted the cove. Shel may have been a Brotherhood slave. But they didn’t bother to remember the faces of their slaves. And most of the folk Rougecarpe had dealt with had been part of the UI’dahn chapter. The Captain had already told her not to worry too much about minding her accent while she spoke with the knight. But, she still didn’t want him to think she was simple.   
“I going there for pre-lim-i-nar-y look.” She said, speaking the fancy word nice and slowly as she leaned her palms upon the faded lacquer of the bar, thick fingers splayed wide apart.    
“This cove.” Sylbrael said, “It is good because it is far from Merlwyb’s eyes, eyes. But also. This is bad. Because it is far from Merlwyb’s eyes. A two-edged sword.”   
Not the correct metaphor, but close enough.   
“Water is deep enough for our ship. Tunnel comes in as well, from in the hillside, for feet trafficking.” She continued her explanation, “But I not be going inside yet, just watching from top of hill. Can see boats. Can see caravan. See both come and go over twelve bells. One of each.” She held up her two fingers for emphasis. “But could be it was lucky day I go. Could be some days nothing comes. Some days much comes. Would need to watch for longer.”   
Everything said and done now she turned to the Captain, an inquisitive look on her face.   
“They be having any apple cider back here?” She asked him, a little hopefully.

“Succinct and to the point.” Pascalle mumbled mostly to himself. Her explanation came across more than well enough for him to understand every piece of information rather clearly and  _ mostly _ concisely. In the end was that more than enough, lest he end up like Atreux, having prejudices most from his fathers’ ilk would hold, speaking with someone like Brae.    
“This is most helpful, Brae. I must guess the question would be which way would be safest to enter. Thank you.” Pas smiled, looking to Arnor who still hasn't answered her. “Well,  _ is there  _ any apple cider back there, Tabor?” His grin grew wide as the words left his mouth.

“Huh?” Arnor had not been paying attention to the conversation so much as the scantily clad Miqo’te serving girl that had ducked in momentarily to grab a spare tray.    
“Apple Cider? Yer help yerself Brae, ya done good so far.” His face didn’t change much as he looked back at Pas. 

She rose from the stool to fetch her own apple cider, “Perhaps you would also be preferring Apple Cider then, Ser Knight Pascalle?” The Roe gave him a broad, friendly smile as she butchered his title, wholly unintentionally. “Then maybe you want to hear good news about your painting. We put it on boat with boy from Ul’dah two turns past!”

Pascalle looked at the drink still sitting on the table. He could hardly call it a drink, really. He looked up to meet Sybrael’s question with a smile of his own.    
_ Ser Knight Pascalle. _ He almost repeated her amusing turn of phrase, but caught himself. “Why, yes please. An apple cider would be lovely.” His smile grew wider. Nasrinne would be receiving his letter soon.

\---

##  Letters from the Motherland I

_ My Dearest Nightingale, _   
Your letter arrived swiftly and in secret, not that I will divulge how at this time. Just another item on the list of things. I can hardly contain my excitement to share them with you when we are once again reunited.

It warms my heart to know you found some comfort on what I expect was not an easy passing across the seas. Not long after your letter arrived did Tabor follow (though not his Quartermaster who you wrote of,) and after reading your words I decided to spare the man at least the benefit of doubt.

And I must say, I believe you most correct in your initial judgement of him. Despite a rough exterior he does seem to have his head squarely fixed atop his shoulders. And to his credit he did talk most well of you. (On that note he left me an invoice for a few casks of rum? He said you’d know “ _ what it was about”.  _ Regardless I remunerated him forthwith.)

I dare not disclose much of my plans here lest they be discovered, which is unlikely.  _ That man _ seems to have taken the bait. Playing into his hands was like slipping into an old pair of gloves; it’s a game I’ve played my entire life. I’m ready to play the part to its conclusion regardless of the consequences. My position has already granted me much access to logistical and financial information with little probing required of my mine own part. 

There have been whispers of course, whispers that the hands of the brotherhood have closed around my nightingale and silenced her song. But I know in truth they are liars, empty handed for you are safe, and now their ‘proof’ of the deed now lies in your hands, where it should rightfully be. I count the days until we can meet again but I know it must be this way.

Know that things have been set in motion, not long after this letter is sent, I have another package to be delivered to our small friend in Ul’dah and another has been already given to our friend, Lord of the Seas. The wheels are turning, and things are underway.

I accept you will worry though I beg you know that I shan’t be reckless. Alas I cannot hold my heart close to my chest, as it is across the seas with you, my love.

My heart is with you always.

_ Sparrow _ .


	11. Chapter 11

**_Shirogane; Othard_ **

  
Nasrinne opened her eyes and looked up at the unfamiliar wooden beams, criss-crossing the ceiling. Then she closed them again, taking a slow, measured breath. When she opened them a second time she pushed the quilted cotton covers off her half-naked form; the beams of sunlight from the small, high windows in the loft filtering down, painting the modest cottage in the soft warmth of morning. She shrugged on one of the robes hanging on the rack, fastening it at the back before her bare feet whispered across the faded lacquered-wood floors.

Down the small stairs. Into the bathroom. The water she splashed on her face was cool. Fresh, and biting; like the rivers that had swept through the green fields in Coerthas at the meeting of winter and spring. Rivers her skin hadn’t felt for years. Rivers her skin would never feel again.

She dried her face with the towel and padded her way through the sliding door. She had to get wood for the stove and the fire pit; she liked the way they put a little spot for a fire sunken into the middle of the tables in Hingashi. She liked the way they sat close to the floor. There were some things she liked about it here already.

She threw open the front door, looking out at the waves of the Ruby Sea for a moment, wondering how Arnor and Brae were faring on the long journey back to Aldenard.

“ _ Kweh! _ ”

“Good morning, girl.” She smiled faintly, looking toward her chocobo. “Hungry?”

Softbeak trilled, and Nasrinne moved to where the greens were stacked neatly in their sacks in the corner of the stable.

“And Arnor thought you’d go rummaging through the Verdict’s stores!” She scoffed good-humouredly as she scratched her beneath her beak. Softbeak gave a soft coo, leaning into her hand.

“Funny enough, I miss them too. Or maybe I just miss having someone I know around. Now isn’t  _ that _ funny? All those years and I wanted nothing more than for no one to know who I was… and now…” She shook her head. “No point getting sentimental, hey? We’ve got a big day today.” She ruffled the feathers at the side of her neck. Then she left her faithful friend to eat, going back inside to put the kettle on and fix herself some rice balls. So far, they were the only thing that Nasrinne had managed learning to cook. (She was working her way up to trying one of the soups everyone seemed to slurp down.) She looked over her list as she ate, sipping her tea occasionally in between adding items.

The ferry to Kugane was quiet early in the morning, it hadn’t taken her long to learn that. Softbeak stood patiently beside her at the bow, watching the piers of Kugane roll into view.

“It is a nice hatchet.” The skipper said to her conversationally as he prepared to dock.

“Thank you, it’s Doman steel.” She smiled. The old Hyur gave a low whistle in response.

“Lucky.” He said to her, tapping his nose. “Doman steel. Hard to get.”

Nasrinne tapped her own nose in kind,

“Just have to know the right people.” She gave him a wink, slipping him some extra gil for Softbeak.

“You will go back to Shirogane on the last boat?” He asked, looking up at her as she mounted her chocobo on the pier.

“No.” She shook her head, “I’m bound for Namai. Perhaps I will see you in a sennight?”

“I will watch for you.” He called after her.

She raised her hand in a parting wave, then she and Softbeak made for their next ship.

Arnor hadn’t been joking when he’d nicknamed himself Lord of the Seas. The pirate had put in a good word for her with the local crews here. And once some coin had changed hands, and elbows had been greased, she had secured herself a semi-regular passage across the waves to the forests of Yanxia. Where the Hingan Foxglove Tree bloomed. The Empress Tree was it’s more common title. But ever since Nasrinne had first learned of it, she knew she had to get herself some samples.

_ Coerthan Bitter Blue _ . Adrax had said when he spoke of the poison that had killed Jhulayne.  _ Bitter Foxglove _ , it was a Coerthan variety. Hardy, and more importantly,  _ blue _ .

The flowers of the Empress tree were purple or pink. But the shade mattered little. It was the similarities in their toxicity that she cared about.

Yanxia was beautiful. Rolling wooded hills, still lakes, gentle streams. Much of the settlements were abandoned or in ruins, but the village of Namai held enough wagging tongues for an innocent trader from Aldenard plying mint tea.

“You made this tea?” The dark haired Midlander asked her over the rim of the small clay cup.

“Yes, from Galago Mint and Chamomile. They both grow almost like weeds where I’m from.”

“Interesting. What brings you all the way across the seas then?”

“Plants and trade, of course. And perhaps a little bit of a change of scenery… Where I’m from, Coerthas… it isn’t exactly,  _ temperate _ . It’s very cold. Not ideal for a botanist.” She chuckled wryly at the half-truth she spun the shorter woman.

“A change of scenery can do wonders for the soul.” She agreed, “Have you already taken in our paddies?”

Nasrinne glanced over her shoulder toward the winding fields of green clustered along the hillsides.

“Yes, I saw them this morning at sunrise. You’d be hard pressed to see a sight more beautiful than the mist gently rolling across them as the light pierces it.”

The woman smiled warmly as she finished the cup.

“Honami-san is my name.” She told her with a quaint little bow as she handed it back,

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Honami-san. I’m Nasrinne,” copying the bowing action as best as she could manage. The gesture seemed to please Honami, or at least amuse her.

“I thank you for letting me try the tea. How much for a brick?”

“I would trade it for information, truly, if you knew of where I might see the Hingan Foxgloves… Empress Trees, I think you call them?”

“Such a cheap price for such a nice tea.” Honami laughed, “I would gladly tell you where to find the glades of the Empress tree for free!”

“That’s awfully kind of you, Honami-san. But if I leave my tea with you, you might let some of your friends try it and then I may sell twice as much on my return journey as I would now.”

“Ah, you Eorzeans are all very clever, I see.”

Nasrinne smiled her half-smile, winking as she rolled her map out across the top of the barrel, next to the paper-wrapped parcel of tea leaves.

“The path is narrow though,” She said, tip-tapping her fingers up the mountainside as if they were a pair of legs, “and it is a high climb to the basin where the springs rest.”

“Too narrow for my chocobo?”

“Too narrow for a horse to pass safely. But your beast may fare differently on the rocks.” Honami folded her hands back inside the sleeves of her kimono. “Please, Nasrinne, come and tell me how you find the Empress Trees at sunrise. There are Sakura blooming there too.” She gave another of those little bows, and Nasrinne returned it.

“I shall be sure to share my thoughts with you, Honami-san.” Her fingers gripped Softbeak’s reins, “Thank you for your help, I hope you enjoy the tea.” She said as she swung herself back up into the saddle.

It was fortunate that Softbeak was a good sport about steep inclines. But then, how could she be anything else? Poor dear had scampered down and up Witchdrop with her enough times. Nasrinne frowned at the unpleasant memory. But then a thought struck her suddenly, and she laughed.

“Do you want to hear a story about your Papa, Softbeak?” She asked her Chocobo, chin nestled in the feathers of the bird’s neck as they both leaned into the sharp climb.

“ _ Kweeh! Kweh!? _ ”

“Oh yes. This is before you were an egg. I was fifteen summers, so that’s over an epoch ago now. I used to ride Praline, you see. The chocobo who sired you. And Jhulayne rode Provost, your uncle.” She smiled, glancing back down the narrow mountain pass over her shoulder; and for a moment she could almost see him in the mist. Curls bouncing, eyebrows knitted into a serious v, hunkered down close to his Provost’s soot-coloured neck.

“ _ Kweeeh? _ ”

Nasrinne laughed again,

“Yes, of course you had an uncle. And an Aunt…” She shook her head, “Anyway, Provost and Praline were very competitive. And sometimes, so were me and Jhuls. One day we were out on some errand or other for Father… Delivering some other steeds to some noble or clergyman, probably. And we finished it early,”

The wind sang as it swept around them; sending what was left of the whip of her hair streaming back, away from her face, ruffling the down of Softbeak’s chest as it danced down the mountain.

“ _ I bet you Provost and I can beat you up the side Greytail Falls _ . Jhuls said to me…  _ I bet you a whole weeks worth of mucking out the stables.  _ Well, what adolescent could resist that bet.”

“ _ Kweh-eh _ ?”

She snorted,

“No of course he didn’t win. Not that it mattered… Jhuls wasn’t even going to be home the whole week. He had to be back in the city proper for training. That’s half the reason he made the bet. Canny bugger.” She sighed, smiling wistfully, “I miss him so much.”

Softbeak gave a mournful whistle.

“Yes,” She sighed, a short but heavy sound. “We both miss him…” Then the corners of her mouth quirked upward, just a fraction, “But that’s not why I’m telling you the story. Well, it’s not the only reason.” She glanced up toward the lip of the basin in the distance. “Praline soared up that pass as if he could fly. Poor Provost never stood a chance at beating him uphill or down.

“ _ Kwe-kweh! _ ” Softbeak trilled with pride, turning her head ever so slightly to look up at Nasrinne.

“That’s right, you take after him in that respect.” She took her hand off the reins to give her a gentle pat of encouragement, “You’re doing very well, Softbeak. I’m sure it will all be worth it, once we get to the top.”

_ And, it was. _

Hingan Foxglove Trees might have been the most beautiful tree that she had ever seen. Its proud trunks rose in a v shape, its boughs snaked upwards toward the sun, each limb draped in shades of velvet pink and lavender petals. She plucked one of the trumpet-like flowers from a twig above her head, bringing it to her nose. The scent was sweet, like vanilla or almond blossoms, but a lighter fragrance. The foxglove that grew in Coerthas was practically scentless, except for the usual earthy smell of fresh flowers and plants.

“They’ll have a very different composition, botanically speaking.” She mused as she twirled it between her fingers a moment. Then she cast it adrift, watching the breeze catch it upon its invisible arms and buffet it toward the lake.

“ _ Ka-we-eh? _ ” Softbeak chirped sweetly from where she had sat herself in the shade on a tuft of soft grass.

“It’s the shape of the flowers.” She explained, “Lamiales, Labiatae. It’s the order of the plants, you see.” Walking toward where her chocobo sat, “Flowering plants are all part of the same order, really. Whether they’re trees, shrubs or weeds.” She licked her lips, easing herself down next to the bird to rest her head gently against the smooth, warm feathers of her wing. “That’s more or less the gist of it, anyway.”

Softbeak’s reply was a low whistle, and Nasrinne laughed.

“Think about it this way, when your stomach breaks it all apart the aether and alchemical components of it all get absorbed, right? Well at the very basest, basest, basest level, that’s all the same across all these plants. They all have to have these  _ things _ to bloom.”

She looked up at the canopy of flowers again, smiling to herself.

“And I’m thinking the thing that makes them bloom like little trumpets…  _ that’s _ the secret. Maybe the Coerthan Foxglove has more of it; because it’s sort of a weed. Whereas these trees, they have less of it. But it’s still the  _ same _ . At the base level.”

Softbeak cooed, quite a matter-of-fact sounding sound, considering she was a chocobo and all.

“Yes, it’s an  _ awfully  _ broad theory.” She rolled her eyes with a tut, chuckling good-humoredly beneath her breath. “Still, don’t you be doubting me, Softbeak, I’ve no one else to postulate at so you’ll have to at least  _ pretend  _ to be optimistic.”

“ _ Kweh-kweh-kwe.”  _ She trilled cheerfully again, leaning down to butt her beak tenderly against the crown of her master’s head.

“You  _ are _ always optimistic.” Nasrinne agreed with a smile.

It wasn’t just flowers she needed. There were other things she needed too. Stills and alembics and mortars and flasks. Things she wasn’t really familiar with in the flesh, but Nasrinne wasn’t familiar with very many things  _ in the flesh _ . Most of her knowledge came from books. And there were books a plenty on the applications of alchemy; from the practical to the perverse.

Nasrinne bought any she could get her hands on, then she bought whatever equipment they suggested she buy. That’s how she got to know Hancock of the East Aldenard Trading Company on a first name basis. (And how her coffers began to empty,  _ quite swiftly _ .)

And as the weeks ticked over into moons, Nasrinne discovered she had to purchase books on other subjects too. Beginning with woodworking, so she could make some shelves for the stupid amount of books piling up on the bottom floor of the cottage. That’s why she was holding the hammer in her hand when she answered her front door to Snads, carrying a package half the size of him.

“Nas!” He called her name enthusiastically,

“Snads?” She peered at him. “I can barely recognise you in that foppish hat.”

“But ‘ow’d you  _ know _ I was bringing you a painting?” The boy demanded as he looked up at her from behind the paper-wrapped frame.

“I didn’t.” She said grabbing the boy buy the shoulder with one hand and the top of her parcel with the other. “How did you get here?”

“Airship…” He said as she pulled him inside, “Then a li’l ferry.” The door snapped shut behind him. “Ya’ve got a fire in the middle of ya table.”

“It’s good for heating tea.” She said as she holstered the hammer in her toolbelt.

“Ya frying a fish in it.” He said, relinquishing his grip on the package now it was with it’s intended recipient and strolling over to inspect her kitchen, standing on his tip toes to fiddle with the herbs she had strung across the window to dry. “Ain’t as fancy as that place in The Goblet…” He remarked, referring to where she had stayed when she had first left Ishgard.

“But it’s nice, Nas.” He added hastily, spinning around to watch her peel the wrapping from the painting with a toothy grin.

She eased the frame against the wall by the front door a moment, stepping back to admire the handsome portrait of her childhood crush.

“Mintori said Pas painted that. That’s the Azure Dragoon ain’t it?”

Nasrinne nodded, her lips curling into a grin themselves.

“He most certainly did.” She chuckled, strolling into the kitchen proper and picking up a knife.

“ _ What ya got that for? _ ” Snads blurted out, almost knocking her fish into the flames of the firepit with his rapidly flailing hands.

“Careful, don’t burn supper.” She scolded him lightly, twirling the painting around. Snads watched with hushed trepidation as she crouched down behind it and began to slice away at the backing with careful precision.

“How did you know to do that?” He whispered, awestruck as she peeled it away to reveal the hidden compartment.

“A hunch.” She shrugged with a smirk, reaching in to retrieve the small pouch and carefully folded parchment it contained.

“ _ Cor, _ ” Snads gibed, “ _ A hunch she reckons _ .”

But Nasrinne wasn’t listening to him, she was reading her letter. Her thumb caressed the looping lines of neat cursive gently, a bittersweet smile creeping across her lips. She undid the knot of the soft, velvet bag, peering inside. There was a vial in there; the bitter blue, she realised. And so quickly. She was so giddy about the prospects unfolding before her she almost missed the rest of the contents, but a glimmer of silver caught her eye. She quirked a brow in that habitual way, reaching inside to pull whatever it was out.

“ _ Oh. _ ” She whispered breathlessly. She looked back down toward the letter. 

_...now their ‘proof’ of the deed now lies in your hands, where it should rightfully be… _

A wave of memories crashed over her. Recollections of moments, of Starlight’s long past. Of fumbling through carpet on her knees next to her oldest, her best friend. A sheen of moisture crept over her eyes, pooling in their corners to roll, unbidden, down her cheek.    
“ _ You’re my hero, do you know that? _ ” She whispered to the earring against the swelling of the lump in her throat.

“ _Nas?_ ” The voice of Snads pulled her back to reality. “Are you right?”

She blinked suddenly, wiping her face with the back of her hand as she let the earring fall back inside the pouch.

“I’m fine. Just a little homesick, I suppose.” She replied, her sigh eeking into a smile as she watched him glance awkwardly toward the ceiling.

“So…” Snads asked her after what was, unquestionably, a long pause for the boy. “What we’re ya doin’ with the hammer then? If ya didn’t know ‘bout the paintin’.”

She looked down at him, folding up the letter and sliding it into the pocket of her pants along with the little pouch. Then she reached over pulling the ridiculous looking hat off his head and tossing it dangerously close toward the firepit. Snads grinned up at her, the way all starstruck adolescent boys grin at their big sister. The way she used to grin up at Jhulayne.

“Building a bookshelf.” She said to him, pulling her fish from the iron rod sticking out of the coals and setting it to cool on a plate. “Did you want to learn how?”

“You tryin’ to get me to help you lug planks of wood around?”

“Yes.” She conceded.  _ Can’t pull anything over this kid _ . She thought. “But I’ll take you to the beach after.”

“The beach? I ain’t never been to the beach before.”

“You know how to swim?”

“Nuh.” Snads stuck his hands into the pockets of his fine, black trousers. They’d probably been smartly pressed when he left Ul’dah, but they were quite creased now.

“Then I’ll teach you how to do that too.” She shrugged. “When does the airship go back to Ul’dah?”

“Three days.” Snads replied with a haphazard little shrug, “Minne made sure I had money for an inn though… He said you probably wouldn’t have this place set up for guests yet.”

“Don’t be daft. There’s plenty of room here. I know it’s not the apartment in the Goblet, but it’s hardly a hovel.” She laughed, “If Mintori gave you money for an inn, keep it. Use it to buy something nice for your Mother, or Pawa.”

“Oh, Ma’s gone.” Snads shrugged again, “Shacked up with some rich little-fella who dun like kids. It’s no worries, Pawa and I know how to look after ourselves.” He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the tatami mat. Nasrinne frowned. 

“Well.” She said softly, “All the more reason to buy something for Pawa. We can go to the market tomorrow.” Her lips tugged into a half-smile, “You must be hungry; children are always hungry. Sit down and take off your shoes. I’ll fix us lunch.”

They split the fish with some rice balls that she had made, filled with some sort of spicy bean paste she’d bought in an attempt to curry favour with the old woman up the hill who knew a lot about fermentation. (There were some things she knew she  _ wouldn’t _ be able to learn from books.)

“These are pretty good.” Snads told her with his mouthful.

Nasrinne swallowed before answering with a wry grin,

“You should have tried the first batch.”

The afternoon sun crept its way across the sky. There were no windows downstairs, so it was easy to lose track of time, sawing and hammering away beneath the warm glow of the lamps. The shelves were all cut to size, stacked neatly in piles. The next step, according to her book, was the frame.

She peered intently at the illustration, hunched over, cross-legged on the floor, then looked back up at Snads, standing over her.

“How you even gonna reach the top?” He asked her around the nail he was holding in the corner of his mouth.

“I’m going to have to use a chair…”

“Nas.” Snads told her seriously, removing the nail to gesture at her with it. “Ain’t no chair tall enough for this. This thing reaches the bloody roof almost.”

“I’ll build a ladder, I suppose.”

“Does it tell ya how to build a ladder in that book?” He folded his arms across his chest, “Because otherwise, how do ya expect to get the nails in the top?”

“We’ll build it  _ flat _ , Snads.” She laughed, “On its back, laying down.”

“How we gonna lift it up?”

“We’ll use some ropes to guide it. Don’t worry, it’s just a bookshelf, not a barn.” She reached over for the bottle of wine she had uncorked after lunch.

“You sure know a lot of weird stuff for a noble lady.” He said, his sandy hair falling across his face as he shook his head.

“I’m hardly a noble lady anymore.” Nasrinne scoffed, punctuating this statement with a swig from the bottle of wine, causing Snads to break out into a peal of boyish laughter which brought a rare,  _ full _ smile to her lips.

It was late by the time they’d finished work on the frame, and by the time they’d fed Softbeak and eaten themselves, the boy could hardly keep his eyes open. She had pulled out the spare futon to set up downstairs, but then she changed her mind. How strange for him to be half a world away from everyone and everything he knew. It was a feeling she could relate to, truly.

“Do you want to sleep up in the loft, with me? There’s no railings on the stairs mind… so if you’re afraid of heights-”

“I don’t mind heights!” Snads cut in,  _ quickly _ .

“Come on then.” She said with a crooked smile, putting the futon back into the cupboard. 

“Is that a  _ bear’s fur? _ Did you  _ kill a bear? _ ” He exclaimed as they reached the top of the small set of stairs.

“No, silly, I bought it.” She said, laughing beneath her breath. “Do I look like I could kill a bear by myself?”

He studied her for a moment, brow furrowing.

“Yeah.” He said finally before clambering atop the low wooden frame atop the pile of furs and cushions, “Especially now you gone an’ shorn most ya hair off.”

She gave a snort,

“Well, I can’t. Maybe if it’s  _ very _ far away and I’ve got a nice high spot to pick it off from.  _ Maybe _ . Bears can climb you know.”

“Nah, I ain’t know that.” He murmured sleepily. “You know so much weird stuff, I told ya already ay?”

“You did.” She nodded, pulling Pascalle’s letter out of her pocket again, and settling down next to him to read it for a second time. Then a third. Snads was snoring by the time she folded it back up again. She slid it into the drawer of the little side table, pulling out a pen and paper to start writing her reply.

The wind was cool against her face as she broke the surface of the water. Nasrinne shook the droplets from her hair, opening her eyes to look at Snads, struggling admirably to keep up with her crawling pace. She chuckled, reaching out her hand to catch his wrist and tug him closer to her, and their destination.

“You’re not doing too bad… for an Ul’dahn street rat.” She teased, though there was an undercurrent of pride in her voice.

Snads panted a little as his hand slapped the smooth face of the stone, jutting out of the waves.

“Reckon I’m gettin’… the hang of it.” He agreed, grin still cocksure despite the laborious effort it had taken them to swim this small distance out into the bay’s inlet.

She helped him climb onto the rock, and then they both sat down, bare legs stretched out, palms flat, leaning backwards as the water dripped off them, and the soft morning breeze kissed their salt-glazed skin.

“ _ There _ .” She nodded toward the slowly creeping shade of pink against the horizon.

Snads let out a soft, wistful gasp.

“Ain’t never seen the sun rise over the ocean before…” He murmured.

“Well,” She said quietly, feeling a strange mixture of sadness and happiness wash over her, all at the same time. “Now you have.”

“You ever gonna come back home, Nas?” His voice was small beside her.

Nasrinne watched the small boats of the fishermen, coasting back toward the piers, across the dawn-spangled waters. Sailing on a mirror of rose-tinted gold.

“One day, I hope.” She turned to him with a crooked smile, “For now, you can just play the pretend retainer, and carry my letters.”

Snads gave a snort.

“Well then ya better be payin’ me.”

“You can collect payment from the good Lord Tabor.” She said to him, impersonating her sister to great effect. “Fifteen casks of Radz-at-Han from his ship’s hold. I  _ know _ he has them in there. And he’s my ward. I own them. Can do whatever I want with them.” She said this quite firmly. As if perhaps, she was practicing saying those very words to Arnor himself.

“ _ Fifteen!” _

“How old are you now?” She paused, half reconsidering this offer which had mostly been made to spite Arnor for charging Pascalle for the rum.

“ _ Thirteen and a half _ .”

“On your fifteenth nameday then.” She said to him, “Can’t be signing off casks of rum to you before you’re legally allowed to drink them. Mintori would pitch a fit at me, I’m sure.”

Snads seemed disappointed by this caveat but could admit the wisdom in it. Mintori would definitely pitch a fit.

“You need me to carry any other letters back for you? Anyone else back home in snowy Ishgard missin’ ya ‘sides ya Pillars boy?”

Nasrinne shook her head.

“No, Snads.” She told him with a gentle laugh, “Just my Pillars boy.”

\---


End file.
